Tracks

Fish houses on the lake,
reddish orange at sunrise.
The air so crisp and cold you’d swear
you could reach out and snap
it like an icicle.

Sophie and I, take our morning walk

Nothing deters us, not wind or cold.
I in my arctic clothes, she in her fur.
We take the same path everyday.
Northeast, to the field approach, back and
around the copse of trees between empty fields.

There are tracks in the snow.

There are always tracks in the snow
but today we pay special attention.
Fox and Raccoon, Rabbit and Mice.
And we can’t forget the old trickster,
Coyote, he’s there too.

The tracks tell a story.

The tracks tell a story of night rambling.
Of chasing after food. Of survival.
Of the danger of being food.
Come morning, the animals are gone.
Hiding in their dens, this is survival too.

We must survive as well.

The fish houses have turned a Golden color
as we make our way back home. Blue shadows
on the snow and our breakfast is waiting.
Not a twig stirs in the cold morning air.
It’s going to be a beautiful day.

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