Confluence

Confluence

This time of year, I always hear them before I see them. In the 

late afternoon when I'm working in the yard I hear their unmistakable 

honking. I look up at my patch of sky, hoping their flight path will 

bring them low over our house. Every now and then it does.

Lately I've been getting reacquainted with Kinnickinnic State Park. 

When we first moved to River Falls I used to go there to watch the 

sunrise before my morning commute. A couple of days ago I had 

some time after work and decided to pay a visit.

I got to the park after the sun had set. The river (which only a few 

months ago was crawling with boats) was perfectly still. As I walked 

the shoreline where the Kinnickinnic and St. Croix meet, I heard 

these geese behind me. I managed to turn around just in time to witness 

their formation flying downstream over the St. Croix River valley.

~ Hal

November

November

I've lived in the upper midwest now for 18 years and I can honestly 

say that I am only beginning to learn the meaning of November 

around here. I got an inkling a while back, when Maggie explained 

to me that brown is not just brown. Each variety of grass transforms 

with its own signature hue. When the grey skies and rain come, the 

grasses begin to glow.

The bright leaves of autumn have dropped; only a few varieties of 

oak are left with color. Their rusty brown leaves had the patience to 

hold out for a more subtle moment to sing. The sun, low on the 

horizon, knits the harvest and hills together.

~ Hal