Jeanne, Jen, and I hike down the wooded trail towards the site of Thoreau’s home on Walden pond. The rain drips through the leaves like a concert of leaky faucets. The droplets hang from the end of pine needles waiting for a gust of wind to complete their journey to the water soaked ground. A couple of swimmers splash in the pond braving the menacing grey clouds. The concentric circles of each drop ripple from their centers and smooth back into the surface of the lake.

I stop to take a picture of a violet flower but the barb wire fence on either side of the trail stands in my way. I take a few pictures of the pond through a natural framing provided by an opening in the branches. At the site of Thoreau’s home, I have the girls pose as if they are sipping tea in what today might be called a mini one room home. Thoreau only kept one extra set of wares for guests and no seats that they might not stick around too long. A group of five hikers stand by with their iPhones. Another solo hiker walks up with his selfie stick.

Thoreau went to the woods to experience nature directly. What would he think of these sterile woods stripped of large predators with the plants protected from trampling feet; of day visitors from the city with their high tech gadgets to share the briefest resonance of his experience? The rain picks up as the sound of the drips merge into a soft hum. This clip is my brief moment of “On Walden Pond”.