The hunting season has wound down for the most part, and the snow has receded, leaving the perfect ground for seeing the tracks of everyone who has ventured forth to and from the forest. All their prints were outlined in snow, but with the depth and form of mud beneath.
A set of deer tracks made their way right up to door of our debris hut, as if to inspect our handiwork. He or she also seemed to have taken a lick of the snow from the roof. The tracks then wandered up to the pasture, maybe for a little nibble and a chat with the horses.
A spider was comfortably relaxing in the clearly defined footprint of a squirrel; toes, nails and all.
A large birds nest was hanging in some empty winter branches. It seemed so perfect. A small egg made of snow gathered inside. The leaf lining looked ever so comfortable, like a wet, soft hide. If I were small enough, I would have climbed in for a nap, lulled to sleep by the comfort of the humid air of melting snow.