My feet in the snow my face to the sky, within a circle of Shagbark Hickories. And as I stood, gazing up, lost in the tangle of branches, I barely felt the speck of mist touch my face. I hardly thought of it till it happened again.
And then again.
Now I saw a drop coming towards me. Some seconds later, one hit a branch on its way down, splattering into many drops, one of them landing on my upturned face, dissolving the moment it touched me.
On its way down from where I wondered.
I looked around me but it wasn’t raining. Not even a drizzle.
Then I looked down at my feet and saw the ground was speckled with crumbs. That’s what it looked like, the stuff left over after eating. And those crumbs stained the snow pale browns and deep yellows, even some specks of burnt orange.
Was I being rained on, pissed on, or spit on. Someone had dropped all those “crumbs” coloring the snow. They were probably dropping something similar on me now.
I looked up again, to see what I could see. I saw the thick scales of the Shagbark hickory and the thinner ones of the smaller trees. The craggy arms of the high branches reaching around each other. And the tiny tips of the branches like veins in the spaces between them.
A drop of water, as light as a snowflake, ticked the ridge of my nose.
I decided to move on, content to wonder.