Time weathered.
The stream is dry now, only to overflow during early spring rains.
Playful roots reach out to us.
We carefully watch where we step so we don't disturb the natural arrangement.
Signs of someone before us?
Ferns of all kinds but you have to look closely.
Reaching for the sun.
A bed for a deer perhaps?
Natural hieroglyphics.
A map of sorts.
A galaxy of star bursts on the forest floor!
Natures way of thinning out.
A natural terrarium.
Jack-in-the-pulpit.
A bed of moss is its' own small habitat.
The welcoming committee.
Tiny dancers!
Craving sunlight.
Yet more ferns in the safety of the shade.
A tiny forest within the forest.
Tangled and mysterious.
A sentinel on the property line.
The house is over 200 years old. Is the stonewall the same?
A doorway to a cozy abode.
The woods are home to many feathered friends. We often hear the Barred Owls calling to each other.
A sea of green on dry land.
"I now felt for the first time the joy of exploration."
Robert Louis Stevenson, Treasure Island
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