The hike this morning was late. After eleven. Usually, I trek to the woods (when I go) much earlier, but cleaning was a priority.
The ground was soft, the forest floor carpeted with old pine needles and mud.
Should’ve brought my gloves, but the cup of coffee kept my hands warm. Coffee and walking, a perfect pair.
No scarf or hat, either, but it didn’t matter. There wasn’t much wind. The collar on the down jacket was high enough for ear and neck.
Sometimes, in the sunlight, the jacket shines brown. Other times, silver. It’s one of those new, shimmery, lightweight, packable jobs.
It’s the same walk, every time: Park the car near the entrance, head east. Deep woods. People bring dogs here most days. They also bring babies.
Today, park workers were my companions. For what seemed like miles (it was only feet, really) I heard the loud, muffled conversation of two men clearing a stream.
Birds, what few remained in this bitter Northeast cold, were nearly silent.
Consider the ravens…
No indoor shelter, only feathers keep them warm.
…they have neither storehouse, nor barn.
Yet here they are existing–no, living. Finding food in visibly dead woods.
I felt my pockets, pockets! A gorgeous gift of winter, little things (and big) can be tucked away in the crevices of clothing.
I had all the material items I needed. Everything else remained at home, tucked away in a backpack for another day.
Unencumbered, I left the park.