Supposedly, I should be all well by now. A new Covid test indicated I no longer have the virus. My senses of taste and smell are back to normal, and coughing no longer wakes me at night. But I feel as if my lungs can only partially fill, and my afternoon nap is no longer a comfy luxury but a definite need. The weather has been so gorgeous, though, I longed to be outside. A three-mile walk around the shore of Moreau Lake seemed more than I wanted to manage, but a shorter amble around the lake's back bay seemed doable. So that's what I did last Saturday.
Walking toward the bridge that would take me to the back-bay trail, I paused to admire the deep russets and dark golds of the shoreline trees.
From the bridge, I gazed at the back bay's quiet water, reflecting the beauty of the shoreline forest and mostly blue sky.
The tree-lined trail between the lake and its bay offered beautiful views of both bodies of water.
A hedge of Black Huckleberry shrubs at the edge of the south-facing sun-bathed shore had achieved their late-fall shade of brilliant scarlet.
I found colorful surprises too, along the shaded woodsy trail. This baby oak bore leaves of a rosy red.
And several Lowbush Blueberry shrubs had beautiful green twigs.
The trailside Maple-leaved Viburnums bore pinky-purple leaves and blue-black berries. So pretty!
As I began to circle the bay, I was surprised to notice how very low the water had fallen. Moreau Lake is a kettle lake that depends almost completely on rainfall and snowmelt to maintain its water levels. I had not been aware of any remarkable dearths of either this year, but what else could have caused the water to fall so low as to reveal so much of the bay's muddy bottom?
In the woods, the Red Maples had dropped their scarlet leaves already, but the many American Beeches still held their leaves of copper and gold.
The sunlight pouring through these oak leaves caused them to glow like embers.
While gazing into the woods, I was startled to notice a pair of Pileated Woodpeckers flying about in the treetops. These huge birds both landed on this trunk and began to explore its bark for the presence of insect infestation. They were so hurried as they went about their task of circling the trunk, it was difficult to find both birds in view at once. I cannot verify if the two birds in these next two photos were two different birds or simply one that came briefly into view while the other remained hidden.
But I did get a photo of one appearing on either side of the trunk.
At the very north end of the bay lies a stretch we have come to call "the Odonata Shore," its sun-warmed sand a favorite habitat of the many dragonflies and damselflies that congregate here in abundant numbers.
There were at least 6 or 7 Autumn Meadowhawk Dragonflies resting on this fallen log before I could draw close enough to take a photo of them. At least this one stayed long enough for the picture-taking.
This photo, displaying wide areas of damp mucky sand that once was underwater, demonstrates how far the water has retreated lately.
For the final stretch of my walk around the bay, I climbed the banks from the beach to this tree-lined trail, where the afternoon sun cast lengthening shadows across my path.
That low sunlight also ignited these Witch Hazel flowers, revealing their starry beauty against the deepening shadows of the woods.
Here's a closer view of the Witch Hazel flowers, its ribbon-like petals fully expanded on this lovely warm afternoon. On colder days well into the fall, the petals will curl up tight until they stretch out again to bask in whatever of the sun's warmth returns. I pressed this cluster of wide-open blooms close to my nose, where I could detect their faint but delightful fragrance, a scent that reminds me of the smell of clean laundry dried outdoors in the sunlight and fresh air.
