Susan Carol Hauser

Archive for June, 2014|Monthly archive page

Peeping the Land: A Survey

In Peeping the Land on June 22, 2014 at 10:31 pm

Peeping the Land
The Bog/Wetland

June 22, 2014

Today I went down to the bog. There used to be paths, when all summer I searched for wildflowers on the hillside, but those small roads are dwindled now to a line barely stitched into the ground, enough for deer, inadequate for a human. I struck out on my own, wending here and there, taking the path of least resistance down to the margin of the hill’s steady ground where it meets the swampy edge of the bog. I stepped out onto the matted grasses of last year’s growth. The water lapped into my sandals. It was warm and felt soft somehow. I set up my tripod, for I had a purpose: to take photographs of the hillside. But it was the long view of the bog that captured me. The grasses muttered lightly around me, and I breathed in their greeny scent. I looked north, toward the lake, a mere line of blue between the grasses and the dark green of the woods on the far side and the blue-white clouds in the sky above the woods and above that a sky so blue that I slipped a notch in my head and wondered if it was real, if any of this was real, the green green of the bog and the trees, and the white white of the top edge of that one cloud, scalloped against the unfathomable depth of the cerulean sky. Has it been like this every day since I was last here, I wondered? Where have I been?


Peeping the Land: A Survey

In Peeping the Land on June 18, 2014 at 5:32 pm

June 18, 2014

A graveled lane turns west off a ragged, paved county road that is hardened from a hundred years, yes, one-hundred years, of traffic. Before the county gave it a name and a street sign, it was a driveway. When it was a driveway it led up at first to a log cabin, then to a small house with the log cabin in the middle of it, a protective shell around a weary heart.


Bog-Watching, June 8, 2014

In Bog-watching on June 8, 2014 at 4:01 pm

Peeping the Bog, June 8, 2014

 The bog has gone green with summer. The small water course that churns from a pressure ridge out to the bay is obscured by new growth on the bog mat and, from my window, by the full leafage of the trees on the hillside. The path of the creek is still visible, though. It is not so wide that I can see the water that presses back on the grasses, but I can see the grasses themselves, darker perhaps because they capture light and shadow and reflection from the water. That meandering line spells out the creek bed, if you know how to read.


Bog-Watching, June 1, 2014

In Bog-watching on June 1, 2014 at 8:11 pm

Bog-watching, June 1, 2014

Even the bog appreciates the rain that sandwiches it in water, the water below that it floats on, water coming down from above, saturating its top soil and mosses, their roots exuberant with the wash, stems, leaves, incipient seeds unfolding upwards, almost riotously, like a child in a bath, splashing everything with green, with hope and promise.