I suppose that's not my favorite day to travel but a lot of road went under our tread that day anyway. An easy chair that almost bounced out of some one's pickup on 95 North of Boston almost put a halt to our ambitions. In Bethel, Maine we avoided falling through icy lakes, getting stuck at railroad crossings and also getting isolated on snow laden purple mountains majesties. The only birds I saw for the longest time were four crows ornamenting the hotel dumpster, but later I saw a cardinal and in Oxford, 3 blue jays. It's very weird gazing out at the frozen Androscoggin where it courses through Bethel gracefully lined with leafless trees which I can't identify, and observe the complete absence of even one airborne speck, either bird or plane. Until night when the sky articulates pin points and milky spills that seem all the more dazzling in the cold's ruthless pinch.
Very tempting the ice bound forest in the middle of one of the river's turns where the thick grey purple trunks emerged from the glassy yellow green ice, where it seemed just as possible to be abducted by fairies as to fall through the the river's frozen surface.
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