Metropolitan Homesick Blues

Southampton Stories & Other Stuff

THE VIEW FROM MY SITTING ROOM

with 4 comments

The crows are quite vocal this afternoon. They circle the tree tops in a tight crowd and in their own time light on the topmost branches, black smudges on White Birches, bare White Ash and dark-barked Black Walnut trees. All the while causing a commotion that shatters the quietude of the day. The clamor persists as more join their gathering. Then, for no obvious reason, they take flight heading down the line of trees to yet another perch to begin the process all over again. The bush behind my house is a favourite gathering place for crows.

I live on the shoulder of the Saugeen River. It is but minutes from my back door. But between the water and me is a thick forest of red tipped Sumacs, high weeds, gnarled apple trees and wild lilacs choked with wild grape vines that descends into a steep bank thick with cedars. These cedars have grown so dense that little light gets through. You must look up past their dead and dying branches to the green canopy to catch a glimpse of sky.

Somewhere along the brow of this line is a hard to detect path leading to the river. It slides down into darkness. The dead branches arch over it making the descent a sinister passage like Orpheus into the Underworld.

We seldom take that walk. We say it is because the path back up is an uncomfortable pitch for our old legs. But perhaps the claustrophobic forest recalls some deeply buried childhood fear. Why else would it attract crows?

This line of bush is different in winter, though.

Below it, the canyon that holds the Saugeen becomes a snow channel. Winds off the water charge through the harbor mouth and follow the path of the river blowing the lake effect squalls up and over our river-hill subduing the bush and trees and obliterating them under a weight of white. When the weather changes so does the view.

This is the forest outside my sitting room window.

Its tree line catches the light of the rising sun, then turns black at sunset. Green, grey, beige or white, whatever the season’s colour, there is never a time when it is boring or taken for granted. It is constant in its consistent changes.

 

 

Written by metropolitanhomesickblues

February 26, 2012 at 5:00 PM

4 Responses

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  1. When driving on backroads in France with our then young children, they would love to play the game of ‘trees’. When we would drive into a tree tunnel, both girls would sing “We’re in the trees” and repeat until we emerged into the sunshine. This would prompt “We’re in the sunshine”, repeated until we got to some more trees or they got distracted by cows or some other rarity. Your forest photo brought this to mind.
    Best,
    Conor

    Conor Bofin

    February 27, 2012 at 3:25 PM

  2. Nice shots!

    ellzey

    February 28, 2012 at 5:30 PM

    • Thanks.
      And Thanks for ‘Liking’ the post.
      Appreciate it.
      ed

      metropolitanhomesickblues

      February 28, 2012 at 5:38 PM

  3. Enjoyed the read; you have a wonderful talent for describing nature.

    poeticinteraction

    March 27, 2012 at 4:08 PM


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