Devil's Hopbucket

Right before we lost our lovely Auntie Lillie last weekend -- the day before we lost Aunt Lill, actually -- Mistah and I ventured to a state park I'd never been to before, right in our little corner of Southeastern Connecticut.

The Devil's Hopyard.

There is a Devil, apparently, and he has a hop yard. Which is weird and confusing. I prefer to refer to it as the Devil's Hopbucket because buckets are better than yards.

See? Better than a hopyard.

I mean, I love a hopyard . . .

. . . but I love a hopbucket better.

We climbed down in there and let the water wash over us . . .

. . . metaphorically speaking.

#notearthtones

Don't you just love a water fall . . .

. . . and tweaked photography . . .

. . . and a forest . . .

. . . and a hopbucketyard?

It was lovely and peaceful and wonderful and we hiked up and up and up until we got . . .

. . . to the Top . . .

. . . the Top of the World.

We took a wrong trail going down -- who gets lost going down? -- but found a lovely riverside trail and thought about life and death and smelled the world and were one with it . . .

 . . . and found evidence of similar citizens having had a similar experience . . .

. . . the Universe was rooting for us that day.