I spent most of today’s hike thinking about the Aesop’s fable where the sun and the moon argue over which is strongest. I tugged my hat and jacket tighter with each wind gust. When the trail turned and I was walking into the wind, I huddled into my collar. I doubt today’s air temperature rose above freezing, even at midday. In my mind, December and March are the edges of winter.
As I hike the “quickie to the lake,” ice cracks, snow crunches and mud sloshes with my every step. Decomposing snow reveals compressed leaves, swollen creeks and snow-capped rocks, which remind me of gingerbread houses with frosting the consistency of confectioner’s sugar mixed with Superglue.
I’ve hiked this trail dozens of times, but today for the first time I notice that I can see the lake at least ten minutes before I get there. Maybe it was the sun glinting off the icy surface that made me look up at just this moment. Or maybe it was a break in the wind that allowed me to unhunch my shoulders, hold my head up and look around. My discovery of this seasonal detail adds a dimension to my awareness of this place.
On the way back, I notice slender, twisted scat with tiny fibers (hair or plant fibers?) and stop to study the sample. The amber quality of the afternoon light in the stark woods, the decomposing snow and the grayish ice on the temporary pond formed by flooded lowlands - the edge of winter.
A half mile on, I see twisted scat again. At first I think weasel, but the length is more like coyote. Even if these were weasel family tracks - the creature is too light to make an imprint on the icy snow. Recent deer tracks and boot tracks weave in and out of each other obliterating older tracks. Melting and evaporating snow erased much of the story of the individuals who have traveled this trail in the last 10 days.