Ice crunches under my boots on the gravel path. The traffic noise on Congress St. behind me slowly fades as I cross the bridge over the Fore River. It's gray and raw out. Two o'clock in the afternoon but almost dark. Late November, for sure.

Some time in the woods is what's needed today. To dispel the holiday blues. Work off a couple of those pumpkin pie pounds. To stride for awhile, breath some air. See what's going on in the woods.

So I've come a few minutes from my home in Portland to the Fore River Sanctuary to do just that. To walk. Look around. Think.

A welcoming sign...

The path follows along the old canal on a high berm. There's no wind. And now, no noise. I'm already away from the city and into a different place. A gull flies overhead without a sound. Then a blue heron with a great deal a squawking. Then nothing. Except my boots on the path.

My nose runs from the chill air. My cheeks are cold. The air is invigorating my lungs with each breath. I'm so glad I got out.

Canal to my left. Salt marsh to my right. A corridor through the buffalo grass. Quiet.

Small critter tracks across the frozen marsh let me know I'm not alone out here.

But then, in short order, I pass a dozen people wandering back toward the road. Out for a Sunday walk. "Hi". "Hello". I continue on. Over another bridge-a winding one-into the forest of oak and pine and hemlock.

I cross the railroad tracks and head further into the gray woods of young oaks. A thin layer of snow covers the ground to either side of the trail. But a succession of boots today have cleared the path.

Jewell Falls is Portland's only natural waterfall. Hidden in a hollow of hemlocks, it's a gem as it cascades down several levels before flowing out into the salt marsh beyond. Ice has formed in places in the stream. The black rock in the streambed provides a stark contrast.

I photograph. Make notes. Sit on the granite marker in honor of Tom Jewell who did so much to preserve this unique and precious property. I shiver. And decide to head for home.

I cross the railroad tracks again. And suddenly think of the many wild adventures I had as a kid exploring along the RR tracks in Bangor. It all briefly comes back to me as I pause in the middle of the tracks.

The woods are growing dark. The sun will be down soon. Not that I would know it today. I make my way back along the canal on the old towpath. Happy to have spent a few hours with Mother Nature.

Car lights are on when I reach Congress St. Holiday shoppers. Commuters. Rush, rush, rush. But not me. Not today.