This is not to say that I must have my river with a hint of the uncanny. In fact, my favorite time to go to the river valley is winter when the snow and low light transform the landscape and consequently the spirit of the place into a different world. The jumble and tangle of the trees, which look like a mess any other time of the year, stand in bold relief against the snow and pale sky. Likewise, where open water prevails, the streams etch dark trails and form distinct pockets in the canvass of boundless snow.
Against this backdrop it is possible to crunch through the snow for two hours without seeing another person. Calmness reigns and the valley offers an experience that can’t be enjoyed any other time of the year. The insects, of course, are dormant. Juncos and chickadees dart by and their songs fade into the hush of the refuge. The air is still, so no tree limbs are creaking in the wind. The cell phone is not blocking out the world; it is sleeping in a pocket. Instead, there is silence, light, shadow, water, wood, and snow. Everything you think you know about the Minnesota River is forgotten and for a time that is tragic in its brevity, the valley becomes beautiful, pristine, and soothing.
Sand Creek flows out of the Louisville Swamp in the river bottom.
Listen too/How every pause is filled with under-notes/Clear, silver, icy, keen.
A cluster of sumac berries.
A corridor of trees lines the Bluff Trail in Bloomington.
A fossilized bike frame hangs from a tree in Eagan.
