Fresh snow is a story waiting to be told. I looked out our kitchen window while the coffee was brewing and read the tale of recent activity. On the west edge of our property, there is an apple tree which holds fruit far into the winter. Two years ago, I watched several turkeys cooperate to harvest some of the frozen apples. They would take turns flying up and pecking until an apple was freed, allowing the rest of the flock to eat the broken pieces after it fell. There are no turkeys today, nor have I seen any all winter. Instead, smaller birds, woodpeckers, crows, blue jays, doves and grackles have repainted the snow with their tracks as they break apart those frozen treasures gravity and winter winds have dislodged. There is a similar tale of tracks under the ornamental crab apple on the south border. Two weeks ago, its branches were heavy with fermented fruit. Today the snow beneath it looks like a miniature Calgary Stampede took place and the branches are nearly barren.
We compost kitchen waste and our tracks add to the early February story, leading from the small ridge of snow left by the plow guy, past the gray wall and under low pine branches to the plastic compost bin where crows stop frequently to scavenge for delicacies like the seeds from the six winter squash I cut up and cooked Friday evening. Sadly, there are no deer tracks to be seen. The sole mammalian sign being gray squirrel tracks coming across the road to the two bird feeders by the yellow storage building.
I hope to write today, this entry being my pre-race stretching exercise. I had an intriguing short story idea flash into my head on Thursday morning while showering. It had fermented rather nicely and awaits creation. Later on I'm planning on polishing my two intended submissions to this year's Level Best Books anthology. One is slightly supernatural and takes place in the northern wilds of Maine. The other, tentatively slated for Hardscrabble Kids if Level Best doesn't accept it involves a locally noted rock in Manchester called the Devil's Footprint. My day will finish with a toe breaking enjoyment of the Superbowl. Go Pats!