At John Locke’s mill site on the Isinglass River

The stream looks tranquil now, but when swollen by spring rains and melting snowpack, the rush shoots out horizontally from the ledge above. Maybe someday I’ll get of photo of that for comparison.
Another trickle meanders from the other side of the falls when the river runs low in late summer and early autumn.
The mill sat here. The last of it was washed away by flooding in 1898.
Stonework just upstream is all that remains of a bridge that also washed away in 1898, a reminder of how dramatically the river can rise and gather force.
On a pleasant fall day, the pool allows for curious exploration.

Any day now

Hints of what’s about to change are appearing.

 

Even without the anticipated color, early autumn has a distinct look and feel. Often, I sense it as the pointillistic style of Impressionist painters. 

 

As I was saying?

 

It’s not really lazy.

 

Sumac in all its reds is always a harbinger. It’s not always a ghostly pale like this, either.