Walking in a morning of fresh laid snow is testament to the aliveness of the night…tracks abound…the sharp scuffing hooves of deer, the sets of 4 padded feet of jackrabbit…two long, two short, two long, two short, then coyote’s canine prints interrupted somewhere along the way with a prominent perched poop, feral cat’s cautionary tale making I’s rounds, but then a little larger cat…could it be bobcat? And other unidentifiable small ones…furred and feathered alike….one with a nearly visible hopping with a tail drag in between and then the thin talons of small birds around grasses plucking seeds left under light snow…and an occasional wing print. Amazing who moves in these wild lands while we slumber!
As I walked in the field, turning my back to the icy breeze from the mountain to the north, I watched the ground for more stories. I was entranced to see that this particular confluence of snow unweighted by water, very cold temps. and a stiff low breeze, offered up another kind of message from mystery. I began to see that nearly every plant and blade of grass, whether cracked, broken, bent or still standing, had a tiny drift of snow on its south side. This northerly gusting invited snow to take refuge behind even the tiny grass bodies! I saw how each thing has a track, makes its mark, inscribes its story, provides protection….each thing makes a difference on the landscape…every thing!
On this morning the wise old ancestral north wind teaches us of our place and our worth, and that every being can offer beauty, shelter, or a story to another.
What is yours?