When I got down to the big creek it looked like a rough cobblestone road. Only scattered pools remain, a few tiny fish still scraping out an existence, having managed to allude the herons that hunt daily in these remaining wet spots.
This is where we normally do the stream watch, no stream left to watch.
The microstegium- stilt grass- is really taking over the stream banks. We've tried to spray but it's just too much and keeps washing down stream from above, feels hopeless. I fear its choking out all the native plants.
I was rewarded with this one cardinal flower blooming in the stream bed just up from my swimming hole. I always ponder getting in my deep spot and cleaning it out when the water gets low like this but I never get around to it. I'm making do with the sound of the wind in the trees, which resembles flowing water or surf slipping over a beach, until the real sound of water returns.