Monday, March 31

night sit with the dog.

light, misty rain. cool weather, rain dripping off branches onto melting snow, darkness, the perfect playground for the senses.

i've found that i am able to awaken my senses much more effectively when i do the body scan first (tuning in to feet, calves, knees, etc. - up to the head). i don't wake up as much if i try to just jump into my senses without tuning in to my whole body first. also, i've been experimenting to determine if there is a certain order of my senses that works best for me - whether starting with my sense that is most alert at the time and progressing on toward the sense that is the most asleep (or vice versa) works better than following a set order.

i've also discovered that when i tune in to my hearing, i have a particular way of "cheating" that really diminishes how much i am able to hear. i've been working at awakening my hearing by first listening to what is to my left, then in front, to my right, behind, above, and below. my shortcut that i catch myself doing sometimes is that i do a very quick scan beforehand and determine a select few of the loudest sounds; then, when i actually start to go through the different directions, i am initially ONLY able to hear those sounds that i heard quickly on my cheat scan. it takes a suprising amount of effort to open up my hearing and discard those expectations so that i can then actually hear ALL of the sounds in each direction. when i make this effort, i always catch three or four noises around me that are quite obvious, but which i hadn't been able to hear because they hadn't made it into my initial scan.

Day 30!, Sunday, March 30

day sit with the boy and the dog. my last challenge day.

sunny, warm in the 40's. very gentle breeze that occasionally sent chunks of ice careening down from my pine and the ones around it onto the warm pine needles below. they gave the impression of hail in the summertime: ice falling suddenly and strangely onto warm earth.

scent of the pine needles came up strong at times, delicious in the sun. watched the very edge of the snowfield with owl eyes for a while to see the snow crystals melting, but i barely saw one crumble. is it so slow as to be imperceptible?

winter is retreating into the shadows.

Day 29, Saturday, March 29

morning sit with the boy.

very cold today, lower 20's with a brisk wind. just a few clouds in the blue skies.

it felt that the world was very busy outside during my sit: cars and wind give a lot of activity. dusting of snow last night, so each gust of wind sent down a light snowfall, drifting through the branches. it felt just like being on the top of a mountain to ski in winter, cold coldness all around, snow in the eyes, wind whooshing all around everything.

snow from yesterday remains, so most of the earth is white again. walking through the yard, i travel over (and posthole through) fascinating mountains and valleys of snow over land that i know to be flat beneath. it's like being in a different landscape. my husband and i have conjectured that the sculptures are the result of runoff zones underneath; as the snow melts, it finds the lowest areas of ground to run to, which causes the snow above it to melt more quickly, being in contact with water beneath. up close, it doesn't form patterns like streambeds in the snow; it simply looks like a mountainous landscape. it is only from afar, and only this winter, that an overall pattern of a meandering stream emerges. it's lovely to see this ancient waterway appearing on the surface of a yard - the land reasserting its original and lasting personality in the middle of a tidy "lawn."

the blackberry stems are showing their proud little buds, so tiny and promising and pointed towards the sky.

mind kept wandering rather than remaining in my senses, so i pretended i was crow prey, which helped to wake me up, since i could be discovered at any moment. i then stood quite still, alert, for quite some time, moving only my eyes to focus on something now and then. when i did move, i knew i needed to do it imperceptibly lest i give myself away. i distinctly felt that my extra helping at breakfast had not been a good idea, as it made me feel a little sluggish and compromised my ability to make a speedy escape. after a little bit, i then decided that the chickadees around me were my prey - and i found myself paying very close attention to where they were all the time, and which branches they frequented.

just about done with my 30 day challenge. i feel like i already completed it back around day 18, because the third week of the challenge was definitely my most trying time. now i'm quite dedicated to sitting, so it doesn't take as much effort to get out there. and i'm very much looking forward to the coming warm weather, when i won't have to bundle us both all up before going out!

Day 28, Friday, March 28

afternoon sit with the boy and the dog.

gentle rain falling as we sat. three new inches of snow today, covering the eastern half of the trees' bare grounds, announcing the earlier wind's direction. the new snow is wet, loose, and heavy now; most of the tree limbs have already shaken it to the ground.

startled a low-perching bird as we approached the sit spot. fairly large, wings whistled like a dove's, but something about it didn't look dove-like as it flew away - couldn't see any white on the tail, which i think i can usually.

water on snow sounded like rice crispies, the gentle crackling and popping (and snapping too, okay, yes).

a truck slammed on its breaks in front of the neighbor boy's house, backed up furiously, then pulled into their driveway. i watched through the trees, mildly concerned, as a man approached the door, then saw that he was delivering a pizza.

moments later, before he reached his car, i smelled warm oil on the breeze. it was thrilling to have my sense of smell - one of my most subtle senses - tell me what had just happened, even from such a distance. if i had been asked whether i would be able to smell pizza from their house even with the wind carrying the smell directly towards me, i wouldn't have thought so. this really awakened my other senses, as it suddenly reminded me of how important they all are, how each one - even the weaker ones - can clue me in to what's happening or has happened around me.

Day 27, Thursday, March 27

daylight sit with the boy.

breeze from south. chickadees welcomed us out.

so much color on the ground now - pine needles, dead grass, dead branches and twigs, mullein, soil - showing up amidst the snow. it feels like the whole personality of the world comes out as the snow melts and exposes it. i may know what's under all the snow mounds and snow plains, but to see it emerge after all these months shocks me; i'm so accustomed to just seeing white, white, white.

walking later today, i had the gift of seeing a flock of bohemian waxwings feeding on insects on a tree. they would flit over to the trunk to pluck them off, then land on a branch briefly, then flit back for more. i imagine they're the same insects i've been noticing in abundance all spring. will look them up soon. saw bohemians in our yard last month, cedar waxwings came through last year and the year before at this time of year.

Day 26, Wednesday, March 26

proper sit tonight, first in many days. twilight, with the boy.

recognized tonight that the majority of our winds here are coming from the northwest. does this change with the seasons? do these winds bring a particular kind of weather? new things to learn.

the bare ground beneath the trees looks like moon shadows. the larger the pine, the larger the bare patch beneath it. a result simply of the branches channelling snow away, or because of the warm shelter the pines offer at their base as well, melting the snow more quickly?

outside a lot with the boy today, the most so far in this life for him. he is so alert outdoors, just looking and looking, feeling, listening, absorbing. (and then, invariably, sleeping deeply on my shoulder.) he can go for great lengths of time silently perched over my shoulder or snuggled in my coat with a view out. like a little tree himself, perfectly suited to just be in nature, asking for nothing but to be, growing quietly.

walking on the earth tonight, i could feel its give. imagined mole/vole channels collapsing beneath my weight in the soft earth.

Day 25, Tuesday, March 25

brief night sit with the boy.

chill breeze moving over the land and through the treetops, like a visitor. bits of ice or frozen leaves tinkling as they skate over the crusty snow. bare ground, warm some days now, is cold and hard again.

all the blankets bundled about the little one didn't protect my back and arms from the cold. the harshness of the world means a lot more when we're exposed to it directly.

Day 24, Monday, March 24

back home tonight. brief night sit before the little one discovered i was missing.

my head was buzzing tonight with flying lists of concerns, responsibilities, worries. being out in the dark slowed it down somewhat, but i realized that from that space in my head, the night and the forest looked blank, empty, useless, completely foreign. it was not a perspective i've had on nature before - or at least i've not noticed myself having it before. it seemed that all of that thinking going on inside of me shut down my ability to relate to the rest of the universe. it felt so different from how i normally feel, like all of my friends became quite suddenly faceless and unknown to me. i wonder if that is what it's like for people who've not felt the natural world speaking to them yet, who haven't felt a pull to be out of doors. if to them, it is just space that is unused, just a blank part of the world.

saw our first turkey vultures of the year last thursday, and my hawk i've been glimpsing off the side of the road for the past two years finally showed itself up close to me last week - helping me to finally identify it by spreading its gorgeous red tail as it landed!

Day 23, Sunday, March 23, Easter

night sit in the city.

sense meditation. fox-walked so the neighbor's barking dogs wouldn't detect me. when they rushed for an animal loudly climbing a tree near them, i moved quickly and quietly to the edge of the deck, where i stood with my tea. crisp night after a cool, sunny day.

heard boy crying from inside the house and came in.

today is my last day of kamana one awareness exercises. thrilled to have all of these tools to work with; these excersises have enough teachings in them to last me the rest of my life.

Day 22, Saturday, March 22

night sit in the city tonight.

moon rising through the trees, bare branches. cool, hard earth, without snow. the trees were talking, and the moon. they reminded me to just be who and what i am, regardless of what i imagine others might think of me, because that is the only way to live honestly.

we can live an entire life hiding, muting ourselves to avoid being labeled crazy, weird, to avoid being left out of gatherings. but we rob ourselves of ourselves. we lose an opportunity to inspire others, to give others permission to also live wholly as themselves.

Day 21, Friday, March 21

night sit.

frigid breeze from the north. did sense meditation again. got all the wy through it and was admiring my state of wakefulness when i suddenly woke up and realized how bright the moonlight was.

a reminder for me that there is always more room to wake up, more sensation to tap into.

Day 20, Thursday, March 20, Spring!

away from home yesterday, no sit.

evening sit tonight, just on the back deck for convenience reasons. practiced the sense meditation at the start of my sit, and am still suprised at how effective such a simple practice is at bringing me alive into the present moment and place. it makes me feel like i'm newly born as some other kind of animal, because the experience of having all of my senses awakened at the same time is so foreign to me. it does't feel like what i think of as "human."

practiced foxwalking back and forth during my sit, and it amplified my sense of alertness. by the end of my sit, i felt myself, for the first time in memory, as truly a part of the woods. whenever i complete my sits and thank the forest and my tree, i always have a vague sense of being an intruder, however welcome. but tonight, i felt that there was nothing to apologize for, because i was finally obeying the rules of the forest along with everyione else who lived in it. i wasn't just trampling my way loudly through it in a straight line to my destination in order to accomplish my agenda; i was respecting the way of life of other creatures, i was respecting the peace of the forest.

made me reflect on the reality that humans are the only creatures i've ever encountered that barge through the natural world with little regard for or awareness of the ways of all the other creatures. tonight, i felt what it is to be one of the animals, to belong in the woods. and then how vast the woods seemed! every shadow i considered as a potential spot to take cover in, i considered seeing if there were a dry spot to rest on behind the compost bin, that patch of snow there would be loud to walk on, better to travel over that bare earth there, which is also in the shadow of the neighbor's street lamp. and on and on, each individual space on the earth took on so much more significance when i looked at the world from the perspective of caution, of keeping quiet and hidden.

when i stepped into our porch, i was struck at how little the opening is that we call a "door." i generally don't give them a second thought, of course, but tonight i saw that my "front door" is nothing but a little hole into the den of my house, just as so many other creatures have narrow entrances to their shelters, all of us trying to keep out potential predators, pests, the elements.

Day 19, Tuesday, March 18

a friend shared with me today a theory that if a person does something for twenty days, it can be considered a habit - so here i come!

afternoon sit.

practiced the sense meditation today; such an impact on my experience! it opened the whole world to me in a new way. after moving through all of my senses, i felt myself as more of a place than a being. i felt that all of the energies, the relationships, the sounds and winds and sights of the world could just pass right through me as they came my way. normally, i feel myself a whirlwind of human mind-buzzing and self-circling energy. thank you for sharing the gift of this exercise with us!

Day 18, Monday, March 17

afternoon sit today, with the boy and the dog.

spent my sit praying for and thanking the trees, the plants, the small creatures, all the beings whose lives will be disrupted with the coming road and house. for kamana last night, thanked the trees, and now i will be seeing them give the gift of their lives soon, to make way for a home. i'm grateful that at one time, our ancestors lived more in harmony with the other creatures of the world, not being quite so disruptive when we made our way on the earth. may we move towards that way of life as we are able.

the crunchy snow was conducive to some dramatic knee-deep postholing again today, so exciting when experienced with an infant in a sling! our perennials are emerging from the snow, as are the juneberry, serviceberry, and blueberries we've planted. chickadees and goldfinches are singing a lot throughout the day, and the male golds are beginning to turn to their yellow, just under their chins so far. today's kamana task was to experience the world like a new baby; the snow, the breeze, the icy areas, everything was so marvelous, i could have stood in one spot for hours, just feeling, seeing, hearing!

Day 17, Sunday, March 16

finally made it back out to my sit spot today. another glorious moment in nature, by myself.

our pileated called while i was out, my first time hearing it this year. saw a small intrepid insect crawling over the snow, the same type as i saw a few days ago on a tree trunk. have seen two flies so far this year - one outside and one inside.

my feet sank down through the snow consistently on the way to my spot, also for the first time this year. exciting to feel the snow softening, giving way to warmth. a band of crows flew overhead silently as i lay on the needles under my pine. the breeze is light, and there are patches of blue sky here and there in the clouds.

contemplated which direction we should expand our garden in this year, moving closer to feeding ourselves through the winter with our stored vegetables. contemplated ways that we can make ends meet if i decide to stay home with the boy. imagined napping him outside this summer, under my pine on the bed of needles, while we work in the garden. envisioned just laying on the earth with him soon, when the weather warms, just as i was doing today, so he grows up knowing it's "normal" and good to do nothing in nature, to just be, and to watch, and to listen.

Day 16, Saturday, March 15

just a few moments outside today.

the natural world felt so free of most of the cares that seem to fester indoors: bills, clutter, paperwork to be dealt with. out of doors, there was the darkness, the wind, the moon, clouds, sleeping animals, sleeping birds. everything is real, and living, and present. stepping outside was like diving into deep water, a completely different world from the one we've created in our house.

Day 15, Friday, March 14

sat on porch today, on blanket, under blanket. morning sit.

more ground has been uncovered. kamana has me noticing the layout of the land, the shades of colors where before i only noticed what kinds of plants or trees they were. the blue in the snow, where the clouds are in the sky.

cold breeze from the north, but still the smell of the earth. six crows flew high overhead, then two more following. five gulls, south to north. a flock of songbirds, too far for me to recognize.

miss my tree, my quiet space, my place in nature. growing accustomed to being inside these walls all day long again. lungs are still heavy and energy is still low. might venture out tomorrow for a good sit.

March 13

sick me and sick boy, so no sitting yesterday or today. but kamana one continues to go well...

Day 14, Tuesday, March 11

another twilight sit.

noticed the spaces between the pine branches tonight. enough for an owl to swoop in and land. enough for a child to sit on a branch and have a good view.

the trees now have an arc of cleared ground extending from the southeast to the west, echoing the shape of the moon these days, but a little broader. sat today in my snowpants, boots, bulky warm winter coat, hat, scarf, and perfectly content in the cold. felt myself a fox, or an owl, fur or feathers fluffed up to hold the warmth, perfectly at home in the cold, perfectly suited to be out in it. how bare-skinned we humans are, how naturally ill-prepared for this weather! wanted to be like the animals and the birds, who sit, trot, fly naturally and in harmony outdoors, complete unto themselves, self-sufficient. but we found the furs and skins to suit us, and then the plants as well, and here we are today, able to be out of doors in all weather, but instead shutting ourselves up almost all of our living moments under rooves, between walls, raising our children this way, establishing a society built upon being indoors, living unquestioningly this existence of cave-dwellers, cave-livers.

could smell the earth today, on the breeze. contemplated, while sitting, where i will build a shelter this coming summer, with the branches of our friends the trees who will be taken down for the new road and house that will be built here soon.

Day 13, Monday, March 10

twilight sit.

still evening. everything in the world seemed at rest save the cars. one pale green blade of grass nodded lazily above the needles, which are expanding outward from the trunk of the pine toward the south, the snow receding and the memory of the yard becoming reality.

a little neighbor boy's mom called to him, then stillness, then again the door opened and she called, then stillness. minutes later, a sudden crunching announced his movement over the snow, from somewhere near their backyard shed. i couldn't see him through the brambles and tree trunks, but i could hear him chatting away to himself. then a sudden crash, and he appeared from behind a pine, collecting himself after a fall in the snow. his brother poked his head out the door, having been sent to find him, and upon seeing him, asked where he'd been. the little boy said "playing!"

wonderful little human, wanting to be out in the natural world.

Day 12, Sunday, March 9 (Daylight Savings)

afternoon sit.

delicious day. sun, clouds, wondrous cold breeze inspiring all the trees to dance, each cluster taking their turn in time. the branches are all free of ice and snow now, and celebrate it, moving lightly, the breeze sliding through them in waves.

sat on a bed of pine needles today, fallen from my pine. wet leaves partially decomposed upon them, sinking through their woven rug.

noticed a far pine today, only because the wind sang through it before reaching the other pines near me. been there all along, but my eye never saw it, its height, anything about it. now, at my computer, i see it for the first time out the window, too. a background tree.

yesterday's rain froze on the snow overnight. now its icy, firm surface elicits trust for a few steps, only to drop me suddenly through to my knee as i move across it.

Day 11, Saturday, March 8

morning sit. cool breeze, overcast, heavy rain in the forecast.

stood with the babe napping on my chest for my sit today. family coming for a visit, grateful for my commitment to sitting, for the peace of having my time outside this morning. i can feel my knowledge of this place, of the natural world, sinking in to me deeper and deeper as the days go by. when i look out the window now, i really know what that weather feels like, i know the sound of it, the feel, the personality, the companionship of it. daily sitting is quite different from just moving through the outdoors to take a walk, to work in the garden.

birds are very busy. seven jays erupting intermittently into a chorus of proclamations. figured them to be competing for territories, but then five of them flew together over my yard, appeared amicable. goldfinches, chickadees calling & singing, and two others whose notes i didn't recognize. crows calling, shouting. first cardinal in a while came near the feeder this morning, along with the doves who have been visiting the ground below it. Big Gray today was studying ways to get to the feeder itself, no longer content with the ground pickings. haven't seen our three-legged Gray for a few weeks, who for two years has been happy on the ground; perhaps it knows it can't maneuver across the clothesline to get to the feeder.

snow surface is slushy, heavy now, with large crystals. footfalls leave a definite mark, but messy, the grains of slush falling, crumbling easily.

Day 10, Friday, March 7

morning sit.

Little Red and Big Gray sprinting from the feeder upon my opening of the slider, reminding me to be awake and aware each time i enter the outdoors.

jays calling across the yards to one another. mourning doves, paired up in our bare birch, cooing. goldfinches are remembering their songs. woodpecker drumming for food. someone else i didn't recognize.

little gray insects, all climbing slowly upward on the pine as i sat.

the needles of the pines are green-blue, not the deep forest green that i think of them as being. one tree holds green-yellow needles; is it another type of pine, or a sickly tree?

no drips from the roof, the snow held my weight for most of my steps, but it's warm enough that the rhododendron leaves are open in front of our house.

this is a still day, waiting for the new storm to come.

Day 9, Thursday, March 6

losing track of which day i'm on. when i think of going out now, it's just "my sit", not "sit number x out of thirty sits."

brief night sit, as the little one called me in after only a few minutes. i've started over with kamana one, having stopped halfway through a few years ago. tonight my evening kamana task is to offer the thanksgiving address for all of the people in my life, so here i am, holding one of the most important ones. having come inside abruptly as i was just settling into my time outdoors, i can feel myself more keenly aware than usual, the energy arising from my committed time outside coming in with me and coloring this space with the sharpness of my alert outside eye.

while i was out under my tree, i was astonished that the still, silent, sleeping field and forest were the same as the crashing, roaring ones of the sleet storm two days ago. how can one place hold such opposite extremes of activity?

Day 8, Wednesday, March 5

morning sit today. sleet.

Little Red Squirrel and i suprised each other as i stepped outside. it scampered away across the field from beneath our sunflower feeder, leaving the holes it had dug, shells extruded and spread about. Big Gray Squirrel had visited our porch earlier today, taking refuge in the apple tree when it saw me come to the window.

went out to my pine. found squirrel tracks leading from its base to another, followed them for a bit. a half inch of sleet over crusted snow holds sharp tracks. returned to my pine and sat.

sleet sprinkled all around me, bouncing off the flattened collar of my jacket. on the crest of a nearby snow mound, silhouetted by the dark trees beyond it, i could see the snow leaping up in miniature splashes with each grain of sleet that struck, a swarm of minnows breaking the surface of white water.

the sleet slowly collected in the creases of my sleeves, my snowpants, my gaiters. i felt myself a mountain, a boulder, in whose valleys the snow collects, each crevice telling the story of the snow after it has passed. my crossed legs formed caves and overhangs for small creatures to shelter in.

crow called, lord of the forest for that half hour.

sleet. louder from the little forest behind me than on the field of snow. popping of sleet on brambles, snagged leaves, bare bushes drowned out the steady crackle on the exposed field.

then it fell heavier, a roar of ice spraying and coating everything and me.

thought about this log, what pleasure there is in knowing that even one person will read it; the satisfaction of sharing my experience and having someone else receive it. how we hunger to be heard, to share our world with others.

now my son sleeps across my belly, my hair clenched in his little fist to hold me in place, to keep me holding him. our friends call to say their babe has been born and is well. joyous day.

Day 7, Tuesday, March 4

day sit.

gentle, steady rain fell as i stood under the pine. warm today, 50 degrees. the snow was soft from the rain, made moving through it easy. thoughts continued to hold sway over my awareness, so i created another wake-up call: i leaned slightly to the side so that my cheek held a blackberry twig upright. when i drifted off into thoughts, i'd stand upright and the twig went flying, waking me up.

gave prayers today for a friend who is laboring her little babe into the world right now. also gave prayers for a friend who's been found to have cancer.

the rain made a sparkly sound on the snow, with the occasional familiar loud drops plummeting down as collected rain fell from branches. the pine trunk is mostly exposed now, and the needles that were gathered at the juncture of its trunks spilled down in a motionless waterfall toward the ground, woven loosely together.

mist formed as i stood, first only a few feet above the ground, now up above the treetops. it hovered in place for a bit, then slowly began sliding over the land, down the slopes, across the field.

Day 6, Monday, March 3

another evening out.

trapped in this log tonight, thinking what i was going to say about my sit as i sat. something would speak to me, then i'd write about it mentally, missing everything that continued on around me. the snow finally offered me an anchor into the present, its sharp bite on the hand i rested in it. i could feel the crystals shifting, melting beneath the warmth of my hand. i still drifted into reflections, imaginings, memories from time to time, but was drawn regularly back by my body's protests.

studied the shape of my tree tonight, its branching habit, to deconstruct the stock "tree" image that's ruled in my brain since childhood. how can i teach my son to draw as he sees, not to draw as others draw?

the air was warmer tonight than it's been. boots, snowpants, gaiters, five top layers, plus hat and scarf were still just right, but no need for my usual tea.

cars reigned over the silence tonight, constant surf sound in the distance.

noticed on the way back that snow on south-facing slopes holds more weight than that on north-facing; i imagine that the surface melts during the day, then freezes stronger at night. ribbons of tracks celebrate the land, my dog's and mine. watched my husband dancing gently through the house with our son as i returned home.

Day 5, Sunday, March 2

found out today that my mother-in-law, living behind our yard, saw a red fox pass through her yard two days ago, so there it is!

sat at night today. all the while, icicles tinkled down around me from the trees above me, a thin little breeze moving through them.

on the way back to the house, saw that orion, canis major, and my lark are all heading down into the western horizon at 9:00 these days, and leo is up high, taking center stage now. satellites with their faint lights crossed the sky, and one plane, its roar following along behind it.

Day 4, Saturday, March 1

i've noticed, since going to my sit spot for three days now, that when i step outside to let the dog out or to take in the weather, the frantic racing of my mind eases into the quiet of observing nature more rapidly and more consistently. before my regular sit-spotting, it was more rare that i would shift my consciousness in this way, even when outside.

sat during the afternoon today. a robin at the tip-top of a nearby tree called as i went out to my spot. lots of thoughts, i wanted just to sense.
the branches weighed down with today's heavy snow made it feel like i'd left and returned 100 years from now, when the trees were more filled in and the branches touched the ground. everything felt old. as i sat, milk dripped.

when, after 20 minutes, i stood up to go back indoors, i thought i should just do the two minute loop through our back yard, since the babe was with my husband and i had the chance. shortly i came across a patch of disturbed snow with a turkey feather, thinking i'd found a turkey scratch spot. then i saw a band of turkey feathers and a small scat next to them, and knew it was a predator's tracks that marked the snow. i lifted the feathers and sniffed them, looking at the flesh fusing them at their base, and could smell canine urine. the tracks were quite fresh - the snow had only stopped about two hours before, and they had no dusting of snow in them. i put down the feathers and my tea mug, which had grown cool during my sit, and followed the tracks backwards, to see where else in our yard the creature had been, to see if i could find where it had eaten the turkey. i passed over and under spaces on the edge of the forest i'd not bothered to go before, them being off the path, and felt the exhiliration that comes from breaking out of the usual blind routine. quickly i came upon another small pile of scat, high on a mound of snow, with fur, bones, and what looked like seeds. following on, the tracks emerged from under one of our grand white pines, dense around the bottom with close bare branches, and i circled around the outside of the pine to find where the animal had entered its canopy. the tracks entered from the other side, but were covered in 1/4 inch of snow, so i knew i had to brave the sharp branches and crawl under the pine, to see where the animal had spent the end of the snow storm.


the tracks were muted by the snow all the way in to the trunk, and then there, under a cluster of low branches, was a round little spot of tamped down snow. i saw tracks leading around to the other side of the trunk, and lost my wool hat four times on the way around, branches snagging it off my messy, sweaty hair. on the other side of the pine were three more wonderful spots where the creature had lain down. based on the canine tracks, the wild scat, and the petite little bed, i guessed it was probably a fox. (time to return to my kamana one work!) i collected two little tufts of fur that were stuck in the snow of the beds, and followed the tracks a bit more. but i knew my son would be growing hungry, so in i went, carrying my story and the fur with me.