Fulling Mill Brook is anything but a mighty river. But this year, this spring, it’s a stream of respectable size.
Most of the time the flow is small. This year we’ve had a cool soaker of a spring. It’s probably rained half of the days during our last three months. The soil can’t hold on to all the water. Springs and side-tributaries are flowing.
Skunk cabbage thrives in the wet, low ground.
The trail turns right, and ascends a small ridge.
So much stone.
And so many stone walls.
To the side, on a path, a rabbit hears the dog and goes on the alert.
Rabbit is downwind, Coquina can’t smell or see rabbit.
There will be no chase, no frantic fleeing.
At the top of the ridge is more green.
Not skunk cabbage, but mullein, which prefers drier ground.
The afternoon sun makes a green blaze of the leaves.
To the side, doglet blends in with the colors of the woods.
We pass by a great and spreading beech tree.
We turn a corner, and descend.