Good Morning


After such a beautiful spring like day (yes in February, in the mountains of upstate New York), I set the camping hammock up on the porch and slept outside. I watched the hazy yellow crescent moon gently slip below the western horizon and went to sleep soaring through the endless glorious sparkling stars in the purple night sky, feeling the tender caress of cool open air on my cheeks, snuggled in a warm sleeping bag, barely swaying, listening to water rushing in the creek and slow random tones from the wind chimes. Sleeping outside is pure bliss. Waking outside in the morning at first light, even before the first birds is the essence of tranquility. Breath deeply of the cool damp fresh morning air, smell and taste the still mostly frozen wet earth and wet evergreen trees. All is stillness, I hear rippling rapids in the creek, water dripping from the roof and leafless tree branches, the metallic creek of the hammock stand and rustling of the synthetic material of my sleeping bag as I shift position the looks out across the valley in the hazy soft blue light of dawn. There is one very large and bright star still visible through the tree branches toward the south, Venus or maybe the space station. As the sun climbs higher and the sky turns pale baby blue, the light and fluffy puffy clouds turn bright pink and immerse the valley in soft glowing pink orange light. Good morning!


Frogs Calling


It has been raining for several days, cool and dreary, but it means the low spot behind my tent platform has standing water in it. Now, I do realize that mean mosquitoes, but it also mean frogs. As night slowly creeps through the now leaf covered trees, water dripping off everything sets a soft random beat. Suddenly, through the damp air comes one lone pipping squeak. Then, a moment later, one more. A few more enterprising young frogs make their presents known, until it seems the whole woods is filled with chorusing frogs, looking for mates. A twig cracks somewhere close by and a deafening silence engulfs me. What frog predator is out there walking through the dark, carelessly snapping twigs? Silence stretches for many long minutes, a single bird calls out a few notes and fades off, the sound swallowed by the wet dark forest. Soon the frogs start up again, and I drift off to sleep.