A week ago, walking through the woods, I saw thousands of bore holes in the ground. Occasionally, the hard shells of bugs, stinky exoskeletons I had not seen before, were hanging from the trunks of nearby trees. I did not give it much thought but I was intrigued. What could it be?
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As a college student I was fascinated by David Attenborough’s Living Planet. He was my hero. I was certainly disappointed when I learned that he has joined the chorus of global warming alarmists who turned into climate change scaremongers when it became evident that the planet has actually cooled in the last sixteen years. Of course the planet’s climate has changed for billions of years and it has nothing to do with human activity or their existence..
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The forest is wet and misty. A dense fog hangs on top of the river like a fluffy blanket. I hear twigs snapping in the distance. A couple of white tail deer are eyeing us with curiosity. In a few days the forest rangers are going to cull the herd. There is not enough acreage to support all the wildlife. My hubby is walking ahead leaning on his Gandalf stick, his silhouette disappearing in the mist. The drizzly rain shapes diamond droplets in my dark hair like a nature’s tiara.
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The July morning is gloomy. A drizzling rain does not deter me from going for a walk in the woods. A cool 66 degrees is a welcome respite from the 100 degree temperatures of a few days ago. It had been so hot, the asphalt on the tarmac at Reagan National Airport in D.C. had melted underneath a plane.
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