But the past couple of years since I discovered it, I have wondered what the Faerie Spring is like in the winter.
This past week Bella and I took a long walk to find out. I had piles of laundry to do, but I took one look into those brown eyes and went to get her lead.
We trekked on down there. It was well below freezing, maybe in the mid- to lower-20s. But interestingly enough at the head of the spring the water was yet flowing freely. The leftover leaves of fall clogged the flow, and the mossy rocks were a determined green; so it was still a wee bit enchanted.
We went further down, finding evidence of how life is hard in the wild. This fellow didn't make it to see another year.
As we went on we saw white ahead. Random patches of ice.
Then long stretches of ice, leading off into the distance.
Instead of water swishing on by them, each rock, each leaf, was hugged in an icy grip.
The mini water falls stood still, the Faerie song quieted; suspended in chilly silence.
Further down the spring, the waters springing from below ground carved a stream through the ice; a living spring within the dead one.
Bella would trot and frisk around but would occasionally pause, puzzled, and gaze into the treetops, looking for her frenemies the squirrels. She never could find any and she was quite frustrated at their lack of adventure to come out where she could see and chase them.
There was plenty of deer sign though; here is a shot of a pointy deer track in the leaves. It is hard to see down inside of it, but it is there.