Shingletown

It was another crisp and beautiful day in a string of gorgeous days. Cool in the morning, sunny and warm in the afternoon. On my drive to work, I took the back way, stopped at Shingletown, and walked up above the reservoir. The question for me on mornings like this is: how far can you get (and back) with just 20 minutes and a camera?

As I walked up the trail, the sun was just entering the hollow, and shafts of light illuminated the mist rising above the trees. The mountain trails in central Pennsylvania this time of year are green and lined with pale white-pink rhododendron blooms: a pink and white and green shady bower. The fallen logs and rocks in the creek are covered in bright green moss. I wouldn't be surprised to discover that elves live here, though I haven't seen one yet.

I was glad I wore my Crocs because the little girl who still lives inside me insisted that I MUST wade into the stream . . . to take pictures, of course . . . Yeah, that's right. It was pursuant to my photographic goals. And so I did. I was standing in the stream when I took this shot. And yes, the water is quite chilly on the toesies! What a perfectly refreshing way to begin the day. (OK, OK, you've got me. I'll admit it. Wading in our crystal clear mountain streams is something I do as often as possible.)

The song to accompany this picture has to be about a creek. And so here it is: The Band, from The Last Waltz, with Up on Cripple Creek.