Ouch!

Snow, again.
The heaviest single accumulation of our winter, by my recollection. Still, only 3 inches--fluffy and light in the cold, cold 19-degree morning.
Despite my dreams of an early spring, the lure of walking through fresh snow at first light made me reach for my boots and heavy jacket.


At the edge of the field, I came across the tracks of our fox again and followed them back into the woods. Winding through the undergrowth, I followed his path of footsteps past the mighty old oak, and over small bubbling creeks--almost as far as the field beyond. A large fallen tree stopped me abruptly. The fox had gone over—and onward. I decided my trail ended there.
Last night’s storm had begun earlier in the day as rain, changing to snow which fell quickly as we slept. Even in the woods, the wind had carried the snow, deeply blanketing everything. But, beneath this log, the brown ground was dry and leafy. A fresh, strong skunky smell made me wonder if someone had crawled in for shelter from the wintry night—or perhaps was still there. I decided it best not to investigate further, and walked on, toward home.



Later in the day, I heard from a friend.
In last night’s storm, her husband had gone outside to check on the cat as they always do before locking up for the night.
Reaching his hand into her shelter to be sure she was there and say, “Goodnight,” he was badly bitten on the hand.
Kitty had not been able to snuggle into her little house last night—a raccoon had beaten her to its snug, warm interior.

The winter night is hard on all.

Wood Pool in winter