Cherry Pond and Little Cherry Pond

4+/- Miles

Kevin, Judy and Wicket

We had to get out and stretch the legs, but the forecast for the mountains looked ominous. We had never been to Cherry Pond, so, we thought it a good time to go.

I was still reeling a month after losing my middle son Beren. I had been just going through the motions, trying to get from one day to the next.

I had repeatedly found myself walking as in a stupor. Not seeing, or hearing as I stumbled along. I was hoping this walk would be different.

I have been feeling like the punished child who does not understand the crime that has led to the punishment. Angry tears of rage well up within me until I harden myself against them.

It is a cruel and bitter world where I have imprisoned myself. People tell me, "Everything happens for a reason." If there is a "reason" for this I surely cannot see what purpose there is to it.

All that makes sense is "Everybody dies", he was no exception. But not everybody dies before their time.

It is not the natural order of things that sons should pass before their fathers. They should have been here to bury me sometime down the road.

I do not know how I even got to this point, that I should still be here. I look back at how many times I could have, and probably should have died.

My brain, my heart, my soul screams in the night, "Why them? Why not me?" No one hears, no one cares, no one can change the course of what has happened.

I lay down to sleep and my mind fills with them. I wake in the morning and my mind again fills with them...

I wake in the night shaking and sweating from the recurring dream where I cannot find my children, I've lost them somehow, and I don't know where to look to find them...

A butterfly floats across the path and lands on the August flowers. I stop to watch. Maybe I am starting to see again...

We come to the pond. The sky is overcast and dreary. The Northern Presidentials have their heads in a shroud. To the north we can see Starr King and Waumbek.

At the edge of the pond is Arrowhead, along the trail is Mountain Holly. Large red berries are all that is left of what were once beautiful trillium along the trail.

The large blue seed pods are all that are left of the Clintonia, It is easy to understand at this time of year why it is often called "Blue Bead Lily."

Canada Anemone shows itself here and there, and Wintergreen abounds. It is easy to see now why Bunchberry has its name as the red berries line the trail.

At the edge of the bog there is Meadowsweet and Steeplebush among the larch. Swamp Milkweed is a brilliant pink now. Pitcher plants abound alongside the boardwalk.

We spot what may be the first asters we have seen. The Cotton Grass blows in the breeze. There are some mushrooms in and under the trees.

The Goldenrod is coming, and the St. Johnswort and Fireweed are fading. My sight has been restored, at least for this short while...