Above the Salt Springs

In Northern Pennsylvania there is a small state park known as Salt Springs. The spring itself is rather unremarkable, something of a denouement really, but the water is salty. This is the spring:

The real appeal of the park is the old growth hemlock forest perching on the cliff-like side of the mountain behind the spring. There is a stillness there, and a certain feeling in the air. Ancientness, endurance, an abiding.

The creviced rocks, lined with pennies, slowly absorb into themselves the evidence of humanity's passage here. [Click on photo to enlarge it and see the pennies melting into it.]

and the boardwalk trail winds on

offering glimpses of the river carving its own way deeper into the earth below.I scrambled off the trail at one point, descending a steep foot path to sit on a rock and watch the water pour itself out over the rocks. To listen in the stillness. Silence is filled with so many sounds we never take the time to hear.
When the paths diverged in this yellow hemlock wood, I sat again, to contemplate the path that I would take. It seemed expected, forseen, anticipated. Someone knew I would want to sit and be still, to pause and ponder, to listen and hear.

Then, guided by the words carved in the stone, I found the right trail went home again.