Winter woods

 The first cold snap arrived right on time, as the few remaining leaves fell to the ground, putting away their colors for another year and sheltering the smallest of animals. Snow was coming soon as acorns were stored, and finding the last remaining blades of grass was like finding gold. Bear caves were filling up as the sleeping giants dreamed of what bears dream of—resting comfortably with full stomachs. And if you listened carefully, you'd hear small branches snapping as the beavers reinforced their houses. The deer would find anything he could while the fox looked for small prey like rabbits and other small rodents.

Sometimes, a brave or maybe inquisitive deer would venture out of the woods and into someone's yard, feasting on shrubbery and other year-long vegetation, filling himself for the time being.

There were fewer birds this time of year, but the ones who remained sang sweet melodies that were always welcomed. As the first of many snowfalls arrived, a quiet in the woods beckoned me like a call from beyond to enter the white kingdom and marvel at all I saw and heard. I'd spend days out there pitching my tent and building a fire for warmth and cooking. The crackling of the logs was like a song, and the smell was one I always remembered as better than any perfume.

Snug as a bug in my sleeping bag. I'd hear visitors outside the tent and be as still as a mouse as whatever it was. I looked things over and decided I meant no harm.

Come daylight, I'd see the tracks of a deer, and I wondered if I'd ever see her again. I loved my time in the winter woods and often wished to visit again to smell the burning wood and cook a simple meal. To walk among the sleeping giants and set out some pieces of fruits and cheese for the little ones of the woods.

But at least I have my memories; whenever I want to return, I close my eyes and am there.

Mike 2024