A white sheet in a forest is an invitation to forego a lake stroll for a woods walk.
What had seemed mysterious from the parking lot grew even more so as I approached. A lean-to or lean-on a stable tree and a fallen tree, the shelter floats like an upside down ribbed hull of an ancient boat, gathered limbs growing in size as they near the mouth of the trunk-cave.
It's beautiful, I thought, as I approached, cautiously at first, then not so cautiously when I saw how sturdily it had been "constructed." Every limb and branch wore fungi and lichen like honor badges or ornaments, some black, others orange, still others bright green.
The folks who built this are clever, I thought, like the young stone sculptor at Abbo's Alley. They have made an object of beauty.
And then I saw the garbage: the fire pit with crushed and burned glass and beer cans and bottles, the empties inside, many others half-burned and strewn into leaves just beyond.
Could the same folks who built this have also been so careless, so disrespectful?
I hope not.
And I am glad it has been a wet week.
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