Last time I was here the water was higher; it was early spring, and now it is early summer. Up along the banks there are leaves and twigs and even rocks to show how high the water got during spring thaw. I am in the Catskills at a creek near my sister's cabin. Across the creek the land is state-owned, so it is rare to come across any other people down here. Carolle tells the story that one day she and her daughter were sitting on a rock in the middle of the creek, reading, at a time the water ran particularly high, and suddenly two kayakers swished past, each pair surprising the other. But today it is peaceful and quiet. Except when we do some yodeling to make sure the bears know we are here.
I step out of the water to walk along the banks for a bit. The water is icy cold and my feet need a break. Turning to look for the others, I see a flock of yellow swallowtail butterflies drifting silently down the path made by the creek. Truly, maybe fifty or more wafting past in a straggly line. For the rest of our trek we spy the butterflies, mostly in twos and threes after the largest group went past, flitting by on their journey to somewhere.
There is no internet service up here - no cell phone service either - so I can't look up information on swallowtails. Maybe I will when I get home; maybe not. Sometimes it's nice to simply enjoy a mystery.
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