In the fading light of afternoon,
we head out for a wander in the forest.
The first heavy snow fell over the weekend,
which means I break trail for Pasha.
Up and down the trees he goes.
Wild-eyed and grateful for sharp claws and rough bark,
and the chance to run trails in the deep wood.
We pass the tracks of the large, male fisher,
reminding us of how wild this forest is.
The tracks are relatively fresh, and I notice
an immediate shift in Pasha - and in myself.
We are both aware of just how dangerous
an encounter with the fisher would be for him.
Life eats life, and so it is. The wild beauty here
reminds me daily of this.
Long shadows through a young, wispy hemlock.
I glimpse the house through the
trees and pretend I've traveled far through
the enchanted forest. I'm sure that
an old, bent woman will greet me
at the door - wide eyed
and crooked toothed -
and tell me she
has been expecting me.
Instead of the old woman, we notice
that the fisher has visited sometime not so long ago.
He wandered around very close to the house,
writing beautifully in the snow. Probably he passes
through a lot, but the snow reveals his travels,
and the reason that Pasha seems on such high alert today.
The front stoop dressed up for Yule.
I tuck Pasha safe inside and head out
to view the sunset.
Coming home to a warm glow, but still no old woman...
well, of course, someday the old woman will be me!
