A red velvety-headed woodpecker alights on the decaying column of a tree beside the Tulpehocken creek. Both color and texture stand out, as if you could reach out and touch the fuzz, although it is twelve feet away and another twelve feet above the earth. A nubbin of twig rests on a dark ruby leaf that sits on the path amid the proliferations of bits of locust leaves, dry seeds and woody paraphernalia that reminds me of the fertile nature of the woods, the almost excessive richness in the museum of the great outdoors.

   Two heron are visible today: one that looks like a regular (small) bird, only larger, perching on an extended log, the arch of a fallen tree’s trunk. The bird seems to have its shoulders hunched up, accentuating the wings, and is in good position to look upon the water about two and a half feet below. The stream is quiet, neither stagnant nor raging. The sky on this late October morning is grey and overcast and warm with intermittent rain drops.

   A second heron stands on the new silt extension of the tip of picnic peninsula. Some of the park staff are stringing the holiday lights, blue bulbs line the split rail ence, beyond which the almond shaped heron searches for its next meal.

   The rig with a red trailer “K” Line rolls north on 422. The white Duro bag has no name stamped on the bottom, just a date from this past summer, when it was made. Inside the bag is part of a pecan sticky bun.


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