Field Notes: Winter 2024/2025

The luminous middle

Our walk began in rain and ended in sunshine. But the middle — in the middle, thousands of raindrops shimmered on wet branches. Each essential to the whole.

Oh to be such a light in a shining constellation.

Old question, new answer

“Is this the right way?” Cora asks as she turns left.

Cora, Sarah, their dog Bean, Asha and I had been walking along a narrow winding path, then ventured off, over a stone wall and onto a wider trail.

This question and I have become well acquainted through the many versions I’ve asked myself over the years.

These woods have taught me a more expansive answer:

“It is a way.”

The taste of snow

I scoop a handful of fresh snow and hold it in my mouth.
A second scoop,
and a third,
a fourth.

I taste
snow angels
and laughter, toboggans and ice ponds
wet gloves and cold fingers
snow days and shovels and cleats
snow pants and dogs

I taste
shades of white and quiet
quilt-stitch animal tracks
and dark tree branches against a pearl sky

You may also like:

Fall 2024 – No clues required; Every time the wind picks up; Postcards to the Woods #4: Moonrise at sunset; Texts and birds

Summer 2024 – Seen but not seen; Signs along the trail; With these quiet noticings

Spring 2024 – Small noticing, big impact; Scene: Woods in the Northeast; Momentum; Postcard to the Woods #3; The week of smittenness; Befitting of an adult?

Winter 2023/2024 – When the temperature drops; December full moon; Untitled snow note; Letting it be easier; A short exchange at the edge of the woods; How had I forgotten?