Between broad leaves bursts forth delicate red leaves, tender still in the warmth; a sign of resplendent summer growth to come. Decadance of mature leafy mannerisms, waving and bursting nature’s code to us for us to hear during our rare moments of summer stillness.
In the wood, the unleashed drops of water cling to the branches in memory of frozen union, the still blankets they had partook in now mud-based puddles, play-things for children chased by their short-breathed parents.
At first strike, the water spun the mill wheel, grinding flour for the early settlers. The wheel was mounted on adjacent piles of rocks, here today. Fresh out of the oven, the toasty warm bread warmed the chilled farmers’ tummies.
The flour was later sold throughout the region, and bread quickly became a household item.
In the deep, dark night the wind howled and raged. Upon dawn the final clouds were snatched away and the calm revealed snow stripes across the fields. The shadows nestled under the snow ridges in contrast, and the tarrying birds hid under the porch eaves.
By the time I got this shot my hands were entering early frostbite. Upstream are the old mill remains in Milton, Canada, the first local settlement by Jasper Martin along the Sixteen Mile Creek.
Martin immigrated from Newcastle, England with his wife Sarah and two sons on May 17, 1818.