On Outdoors: From the field and pond
By Jim Hagerty
A snowy Aspen corridor and the reverberating trickle of a mountain stream stretched across a rugged veneer is no longer an image of Christmas. Sugar plums cease to invade, and winter is all but a Midwestern depression, justified only in the swill of liquid enlightenment and courage. The great thaw is a distant flicker at the end of a dank, chilled, delusive tunnel.
Dangling a shiny shad and hare shots from the hip passes the time and rattles the monotony where desolation abounds and a silent, dichotomous fervor often wins out over the eventual budding of new life. Seconds tick into minutes and a minute into an hour, even when green is shielded by a blanket of ice and steel. Meantime, a forest emerges from the trees, and clichés pack truth. This, too, shall pass, even after the master of adaptation anchors its claws.
Glassing a white valley from where remnants remain until those, too, are nudged out of place by what is sure to complete its own cycle. Invisible laughter inches an occasion to the brink of relent, yet allows for a temporary basking of reception. What’s under foot on suspended trails contains and connects multiple points, even those not intentionally forged.
Watchers alert the coming of seeming fear as swirling haunts prove uninterrupted, shrouded with a runway of glass and a landing pad of contrasting vantage. A self-constructed bridge allows for congenial commiseration. Warmth is contained from a temporary within, one that must borrow from what lurks beneath and dances when called upon.
Nothing serves as suitable companions but introspection and a comporting wanton continuously fighting off a sedentary block of false malignancy. Indolent and under-appreciative strikes ricochet, denting a shield of sensibility and seasonal adoration.
Outdoors news and photos can be sent directly to Jim Hagerty at email@example.com. Glossies and hard-copy press kits can be mailed or delivered to The Rock River Times’ office at 128 N. Church St., Rockford, IL 61101. Jim can be reached at (815) 964-9767.
From the Jan. 6-12, 2010 issue
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