Field Notes: Winter 2025/2026

But then, so when, and then

On mornings when the wind chill
is 10°F
and freezing rain
has left a sheet of ice
under the inch of fresh snow,
the hardest part is
getting out the door.

But then
I grow warm walking up the hill.
And the snow sparkles.
And I see tracks friends made on their early morning walk.
And it isn’t as slippery as I expected.
And my footsteps make a crunching sound that makes me think of cornflakes.

So when
I recognize Asha’s I-want-to-go-this-way stance,
I say “Sure,” knowing it will add a mile to our walk.

And then
I notice
the hardest part
becomes
leaving wind and snowy ice behind
through that same door.

Excavating beginnings

Begin now with paper, pen and a hot cuppa.

Begin, earlier today, with a slow walk in the woods, noticing small pockets excavated in the snow and soil.

Begin, last fall, with Eastern Gray Squirrel digging a shallow hole and burying an acorn.

Begin, decades ago, with a different acorn, also buried, but sprouting, and, over the years, growing and flowering, yielding this newly unearthed acorn.

Begin with another acorn and another and another through millennia.

Return to this moment with paper, pen and a hot cuppa. What acorns will this writing yield?

You may also like:

Fall 2025 – Witch-hazel; Romcom in the woods; Postcard to the Woods #5

Summer 2025 – Invocation & benediction; Slow answers

Spring 2025 – A gathering of shiny acorns; Prescription; Why I was late; Once open, there’s no going back

Winter 2024/2025 – The taste of snow; The luminous middle; Old question, new answer; Breadcrumbs; Ice-crusted snow; Untitled (after reading Atticus)