This didn’t happen today in the woods. But I thought about it today in the woods. I always think about it. It happened in a suburban forest near a river basin one rainy spring. I’d seen American Redstarts, Green Herons, Wood Ducks, nothing too unusual, but colorful. There was a Northern Waterthrush, Ovenbird, and I’d heard a Belted Kingfisher up river. I stopped to look up at some Red-Headed Woodpeckers, one male and some brown-headed juveniles. The river seemed loud but I paid no attention. I moved a step, and the noise increased. I still paid no attention. Then my heel slipped into a depression. I caught my balance and looked down. Whoa: the noise I’d been hearing was coming from a storm sewer opening. Its lid had been removed and sat in the weeds, rusty and heavy-looking. I stared into the hole. A round-walled shaft, wide enough to swallow a person. At the bottom, ten feet down, was a current of racing, splashing water. It moved from a hole on one side and shot into a hole on the other side. Anything that dropped in would be carried away. I was standing on the lip of this thing. I backed away. But for a bit of luck, I’d have dropped in while looking up at woodpeckers. On hitting bottom, I’d have been swept into a tunnel of water. Drowned, and nobody’d know. I wrestled the rusted manhole cover onto its side, rolled it over and let it drop into position, sealing the hole. I left the woods. I’d seen some colorful birds and didn’t get swept away. Two good things. Now I try to keep ground-aware as I walk in the woods. Maybe you will too, okay?
