Walden: "Drink at my well"

Today we explored a natural world created by thought. Walden Pond in Concord, Massachusetts, was the home of Henry David Thoreau for only a brief blip in history. But his discoveries of and about the natural world, and especially his meditations thereon, have rippled down the years to this very day. And, judging by the scenes we saw today, his thought-world will ripple on indefinitely.
For instance:

Some people go to Walden Pond to fish.

Some people go to Walden Pond for its beach.

But the devotees set off along the path
that circles the pond . . .

Every few hundred feet there will be steps
or a path to the water.

And at the end of each path, someone
will be meditating this way . . .

Or this way . . .

Or this way . . . oops, where'd they go? This lone
bag probably belongs to one of the long-distance
swimmers, out there criss-crossing the pond.

We got there mid-morning on a Friday.  The early bird devotees were leaving, wrapped in white terry robes or bright shawls, having already made communion with the delightful, clear water and with the rising day. We swam off Red Cross Beach, a somewhat stony but deliciously unguarded beach slightly off the track. Then we set off to walk the circuit of the pond. Like this . . .

Yes, that's me. Wet and
feeling go-oo--oo--d.

And here's today's main photographer.
Our adventure in part marks the return
of Roy's Nikon from the repair shop.

We didn't take a picture of the people who come to Walden to read poetry to themselves or to each other -- it seemed just too much an intrusion -- nor did we get a clear photo of the more meditative swimmers, like the man drifting along, floating on his back and displaying a beatified face to the sun. His lips were moving silently, as if he was reciting poetry to the sky.

Roy found the following, which sums up my blog:

Boston's "Ice King", Frederic Tudor, harvested ice yearly on Walden Pond for export to the Caribbean, Europe, and India. In his journal, Thoreau philosophized upon the wintry sight of Tudor's ice harvesters: "The sweltering inhabitants of Charleston and New Orleans, of Madras and Bombay and Calcutta, drink at my well ... The pure Walden water is mingled with the sacred water of the Ganges."

Hang on, though, and I'll show you a few more finds.

Mounted police patrol the
commuter rail tracks, otherwise
too open to Walden Pond hikers.

This hip-booted fisherman
had one trout in his creel, but
was hoping for a second fish
"for my wife."

And, finally, this cairn near the edge of the water
reminded us of the thought-world of this site.