York Road beaver pond

I've never seen any beavers in the bit of pond that borders the road; I've never seen a hint of the dam. But every time I pass by, I stop, just in case.

This visit, there were misty reflections and wet grasses to reward me.

Something down below is bubbling, making circles on the water.

Common rush seed head, soaking wet.

Tule and grasses and their angled reflections.

Just wet grass, dry on the inside, wet outside.

Wet winter grasses, in ditches, crispy and cold; so tempting! Oh, to be a kid again, in rubber boots and a wool jacket that Mom would hang over the wood stove to drip dry when I came home!

I've been remembering a cold winter afternoon, years and years ago, when I was a kid in school in White Rock. My brother and I took a "shortcut" home from school. (These shortcuts usually took much longer than the usual roads, of course.) Our route involved walking down the ditch, and through a culvert under the road. The ditch was full of dead grass, pale yellow-brown, glittering with frost in the shadows, dripping wet where the winter sun had reached it; it rustled icily as we passed through. There was a smell of soggy mud, with overtones of rotting hay. So much more inspiring than the boring sidewalks and picket fences of the street!

Zooming in on those dead grasses.

York Road. I do love these country roads!