The Chemung is now completely frozen. People and animal tracks cross it and skirt along its banks. Ellie and I walked along the edges, walking up onto land when we found a good spot.
The only sounds are the distant traffic, and the doves that we continually disturbed along the way. This is not the Chemung that I know. It's been years since it has frozen quite like this. We walked in places that we only last used when the bed was almost completely dry during a drought, probably in the summer of 2005.
The silence feels good, though. I can hear Ellie's tags jingling as she scampers across the snow-crust. My feel move only a little at a time, because I am still afraid of hearing the sharp, scary report. We do not hear any cracking, except the thin crust. I see cracks, but they are old and already frozen over, too. It gives me the urge to waddle all the way down to Fitch's Bridge in Golden Glow. We don't. Let's not advertise this wonder.
I don't want to be there when the snowmobile owners discover what we learned this morning. We loved communing with the silent river.