Walking among the ice crystals.
Footfall echo off the trees.
All is silent. Except my feet.
The crow caws once to announce the intrusion.
All else falls silent, my foot fall finds a mossy path.
Falls silent, as well.
In the silence the trees begin to whisper.
Quietly. Then with more force. The cold causes their branches
to moan. A sound my body understands on this cold morn.
Holding its agreement by bringing to my awareness an ache so deep
it burns. We will be warm soon. A few more treks through the forest.
Squirrel would like to say hi. He does. Quickly.
Flashing his bright colors before he burrows
into his grassy bed in the crook of the tree.
Moving on. Grunts and air blowing. Deer run by. Dodging left and right.
Sprinting through the trees. Laughing at my lack of agility, or the fact I insist on keeping to the human path.
Which winds in and around trees and shrubs. Never following a direct route. Meandering through.
Footfall echoing crunches of ice again. Loudly stating my goodbye.
As I try to quiet them. The ice protesting with every break, until I step onto quieter ground.
Saying goodbye to the beauty around me. Thanking the animals for their acceptance of my crunching through their home to find solace among the trees.
Searching for a quieter way.