I see the indents in the snow where the deer lay down for the night. I see the holes in the snow where the squirrel digs for food. I see where the broken maple drips amber sap in the snow.
I see the tree wells, melted snow around the base of the trees. But I’ve never seen them filled with water. I read that animals sometimes drown in tree wells, depending on the size of the tree, the size of the animal, and the depth of the water.
My boots break the crust on the snow and I sink in with each step. The snow is pocked under the pines, not as deep and easier to walk on. It is deepest in the open spaces, up to my knees in some places. But mostly the snow stays below the top of my boot.
Each step considered, each step a breath.
On the hill in the pasture where the sun warms it most, the snow is hard from melting and freezing. I imagine myself lighter than I am, lifting up from my waist and stepping gingerly, which allows me to walk on top of the snow. Allows me to walk more easily.
Bluejay silences the reet-reet of cardinal.
I make my way to the path the donkeys and sheep keep low just from walking on it. I follow it back to the farm.
