At the beginning of fall 2006, a friend and I took advantage of the warm weather to explore the river area around the Public Access at Johnson Park in Moorhead, Minn. USA. One of the first sights we came across was mushrooms peering up at us from among the fallen leaves and looking so much like fish heads, we were not certain at first what we were seeing. I have photographs of three different mushrooms from so many angles, it's laughable!
The wind had come up,and so, rather than making our way through the series of paths at the tops of the hills, we continued along the riverbank, which was nicely sheltered by the trees and a sharp drop from the park proper. It was obvious that the river was slowly wearing away and widening its banks. During the spring, the entire riverbank area is flooded, many years, and the racing waters erode the river bed's sides. Other years, as is predicted for this coming spring, drought is expected, the river retreats until one can walk across it in places, and the only erosion comes from dry, crumbling mud as people walk along the river's edge.
Looking through the trees from the river, there was only a flat expanse covered by fallen leaves and small trees and woody plants. Under the thick summer leaf cover, there isn't enough sunlight to give anything else a start. Here and there are fallen tree trunks in decay; the straight-line winds sometimes take down the trees that are not flexible enough to bend and spring back.
I can see the trees on the other side of the river. Looking in the opposite direction, the woods seem to close in. There still is a great difference in the light quality, even with all the leaves that have fallen. It has gotten darker, though, as the day has progressed toward evening. The wind is up, and dust clouds the sky enough to dim the light. I feel like I'm eating a lot of it!
One of the reasons I want to build up to riding my bicycle (the old-style ones with the large wheels) is that I would like to explore more of the riverbank on my own, rather than having to depend on another photographer to supply a ride. As I walk through the woods, just as when I was a small child, I find myself making up stories about where I am, what I am doing, and what is happening in this imaginary world I've entered. The characters—my new friends, acquaintances and enemies— come past and introduce themselves and enter into dialogue, and the stories begin. It is like living for those few hours in a totally different world, and I often regret that I cannot reshape the current world in which I live so easily as this one, where motives and opportunities and morality and second chances can be sculpted to create happy endings. One of the terrible drawbacks of living in a world where one is not in control.
But, imagine if I were, and I still could not reshape things for the better!