It was warm this morning. While on my routine walk with Monkey, I noticed her soaking up the warm rays of sunlight. It is fall. The earth is quiet, the air is still, humidity from the trees hung to the earth. Weather is coming, or at least that’s what they say. Monkey was basking and I took her lead and followed. Quietly we made our way home. The sky was growing overcast, the light was soft and instead of working on my “to-do” list, I was compelled to head outdoors. This time, I left the dogs at home. I wanted to explore lower bluebell creek. I wanted to connect with the spirit of the woods.
I have wandered Bluebell Creek regularly since moving to the neighborhood 15 years ago. The lower section is dominated by green ash, an introduced species, but they create a lovely canopy over the narrow intermittent stream. In the summer, the woods stay cool and moist while the rest of Boulder bakes in the sun. In the Fall, the trail through the woods are dappled with yellow, brown and orange leaves. This year, the creek bed is a tangle of debris. Sticks, logs and rocks piled up against each other, remnants of the flood. Remnants that are slowly decaying, compressing and solidifying into mounts. The topography within this narrow drainage was completely altered. The trees bend and bow. Forest spirits live here which is evident by the many children visits. Creativity and mystery abounds in lower Bluebell Creek and today the earth spirits called.