Wing Prints in Snow

Large Snowflakes drifted steadily from the cold, gray sky, kissing my cheeks before melting away.  I lay on the ground in the barren winter field,  cheeks red and cold, but bundled warm and snug in my black snowmobile suit with the yellow stripes down the sleeves.  From where did Snow come from, I wondered?  I tried to focus on a single Snowflake as far up as I could see, and watch its journey downward alongside millions of its sisters and brothers.  The view reminded me of those scenes on Star Trek, where the Enterprise is traveling at Warp speed through the galaxy, stars whizzing by.  I was 13 years old.

Childlike wonder and excitement fill my heart when Snow first covers the ground.  It is my favorite holiday, the First Snowfall, the most magical day of the year.  It is a time of peace, when I feel more safe somehow, comforted.  That Winter blanket keeps me snug and warm, no matter what is going on in my world.

It was a cold, crisp, blue sky Winter morning when I walked into the woods one February day searching for signs of Fox.  There was a light dusting of powdery Snow on top of a thin, crusty layer of ice, which sparkled like tiny diamonds in the sunlight. Snow crunched under my boots as I made my way into a small grove of young trees.

I began to follow tracks of Mouse where it hopped through the snow.  I knew the little creature had walked here sometime during the night as the tracks were fresh and clear.  Mouse would go from tree to tree, circling each before moving to the next.  But then, the tracks disappeared.  Vanished in mid-trail.  There, on either side of the last pair of tracks, were wing prints.

As I made my way through the woods, I saw evidence of this night time drama playing out over half a dozen times.  Mouse tracks running from tree to tree, circling the trunks, then disappearing, the last tracks framed by wing prints.  Because of the distance between the wing tips and the fact there were only the tips of the wings showing in the snow, this must have been the work of Screech Owls.  I imagined them quietly gliding through the woods, snatching up unsuspecting Mice from the snow.  I am sure the Owls were well-fed that night.

Soon I found the tracks of Fox and followed them as they wound their way through a field, in and out of dried Goldenrod stems and Asters.  There I could see a tunnel where Meadow Vole had pushed up the snow as it made its way along a little trail.  I noticed where Fox had stopped and poked its nose into Vole's tunnel, perhaps checking to see if anyone was home.  There were tracks of Rabbit, too, and signs of their feeding on wild Raspberry stalks.  Rabbits are unusual in that they have two pairs of front teeth, one behind the other.  When biting off a stem or a twig, they leave behind a cut as clean as if made with the blade of a sharp knife.  Deer, on the other hand, have no upper front teeth and leave a jagged stem behind.

I slowly and quietly followed Fox's trail up a small rise, and as I crested the hill, I saw a glimpse of orange there in the dried weeds.  It was Fox, curled up in the warm sun, taking a morning nap.  I stood and marveled at its beauty, and then quietly retreated, leaving Fox to its dreams.

Yes, Winter is indeed the most magical time of year.