North, beyond the flat fields, where the stubble of corn stalks left standing fades to blond beneath a bright winter sun, and silver-roofed silos stand as sentries beside small, clean brick houses of the dozing mid-western farms, the historic town of Xenia welcomes rural travelers. Its stately, old city buildings, the picture of the picture-perfect town.
And beyond Xenia, on a bright and breezy day, we revisited the Fen.
From the edge of the nearly mile-long boardwalk, cottonwoods and sycamores stand in swamps that line the banks of the parallel waters of Big Beaver Creek. But, soon the planks turn and set out across the sedge meadows, small puddles of the cool, clear water from the aquifer below, seeping through to the spaces beneath our feet.
The marshes are a tangle of browns now. The dense summer greens, gone.
Cattails stand in great groups, their fine, downy droppings gathering in piles along the trail, keeping just ahead of the brisk breeze carrying us along. Dock, its sturdy, lined stem of deep rusty tones is backlit by the afternoon sun.
The fruits of Swamp rose and stems of Dogwood, shine as bright reds.
And the Willows, in deep, golden yellows.
the colors of winter.
Such a fine greeting to visitors here.
beside marsh trail