White flakes floated earthward today and so I donned my snowshoes for the first time this season and joined the party.
Everywhere I looked, the world had transformed.
And ever so slowly mountain ranges took shape.
One mountain in particular caught my attention,
for I’ve been visiting it and two others nearby over the past few weeks.
Where previously, the refectory indicated hours of fine dining,
today there was none. But, I suspect by tomorrow a certain red squirrel that usually squawks at me will be back. Today, he probably hunkered down in his drey, hidden somewhere in the hemlocks above and out of my view. My intention is to keep an eye on him, just as he’ll continue to keep an eye on me, for I want to watch tunnels form and midden piles grow.
After all, he worked hard this past summer and fall harvesting cones and acorns to fill his cupboards in preparation for the winter months. Though those months aren’t yet upon us, even in the fringe he enjoys what he’s gathered.
I left his home base behind and continued on, noting how the snow had gathered–atop the ragged remains of a deer rub,
balanced on winter weeds,
curled inside leaves,
and dangling from others.
A fun find came into view below the towering trees, where the veins of red oak mirrored the structure of the hemlock twigs and needles it was caught between.
At last it was getting dark and time to return to the homestead.
And it was time to celebrate the only dance for which my feet can match the rhythm–the snow dance. I’m so glad I wore my pajamas inside out and slept with the silverware last night. It worked like a charm yet again.
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