Leaving nothing but footprints

An overnight dusting of snow upon yesterday’s icy base—the perfect palette for prints.
I walked the short path, in the few spare minutes before work—imagining the unseen activities that had been recorded here.

In the distance, his mournful cry, the first I've heard since last summer's evenings.
Alone in the field, a penetrating chill.


The Red-shouldered hawk surveying the field from the large ash must find it easy to spot her prey—their tunnels in the grass, dark holes against the white snow.


The field is dotted with them—the scurrying feet never seen.


An impression left.
Dinner taken.

Making tracks

The perfect winter’s night--full moon casting long shadows while snow fell ever so lightly--had given us the perfect morning for tracking.

Delicate flakes, still standing apart from the rest in the cold morning air, waiting for the sun or the pressure of a step.
I headed off to the pond—now solid from the week’s freezing temperatures and scanned the flat white expanse, where the night’s visitors sign a guestbook of sorts. The lure of the water’s edge--a hunting ground, even in this deep freeze.


Little footprints—birds, squirrels, rabbits—in clusters, as if they’d lingered safely, foraging here early this morning under the cover of darkness. Then, a trail, skirting the edge, and boldly crossing to the other side, caught my eye. It was fairly large and definitely canine.

Hmmm.
Possibly a neighbor’s loose dog, though I thought not. Very straight-forward and business-like, this trail seemed to be—not the wandering of a roving Rover.
And, although I would’ve liked to find we had a fox—I immediately remembered the coyote resting in the cool grass back here last June.
Had he returned?

I checked the dimensions and measured the tracks, —I would be bold, too—and say, with certainty, “coyote.”



By evening, I was feeling very proud of my recently tested tracking skills, and eager to share the find with my husband returning home from work.
“The coyote was out by the pond this morning,” I said, greeting him. “I found his tracks.”

“Oh, I completely forgot to tell you! I saw him back there before I went to work.”

A day of discoveries

Today was a wonderful day to be outside. The air was dry, after yesterday's storminess, and the sunshine, bright. A good cleaning day. But, after a morning of diddling around inside, out I went.
What was going to be just a glance in the direction of the pond , turned me around, and headed me back inside--I needed the binoculars. There was something at the far end, at the water's edge.
A log?
Something washed up onto the shore in the storm?
It seemed to be very low to the ground--and I hoped it wasn't the little fawn, mired in the deep mud.
No hurry, just needed a better look.

The better look, this time with binoculars, startled me.
What I'd thought was an inanimate object, I discovered, was something looking back at me.
A coyote--just waking from an afternoon nap and smart enough to realize that the watery distance between us was his protection.Wishing I'd thought to grab the camera earlier, back to the house I went, again--this time, moving a little faster.
(We hear coyotes quite a bit--see them very seldom--NEVER get a picture) He stayed for about 15 minutes, playing at the edge and rolling around in the short grass as I watched, before heading off through the fields.

Later this evening, I returned to look for him, wondering if his ease and playfulness at that spot meant he visited frequently.
He was nowhere to be seen.

Continuing around the pond walk a bit further, though, another discovery.
Swarming ants! I found them hanging in the air all around me before I spotted where they'd risen from--a patch of grass just beside me.
I couldn't help myself--the sun was setting, little amber ants marching up slender, green launchpads.....aren't they interesting? (click photos to enlarge)

They covered the long strands of grass, each climbing to the very top--then lifting off into the air.





Note to self: it seems best to observe flying ants from the up-wind direction.