Northern Reflections

Snow has at long last graced the landscape here in north-central Wisconsin, and the world is transformed. The laying down of this blanket uncovers far more than it covers, and reveals more than it disguises. Animals that slunk about in the early days of winter now leave evidence of their every terrestrial move. Recognizing tracks is not my specialty, but I do follow them on occasion. There is something comforting – and mystical – about traveling the path of a deer or a hare or a coyote. I trust a good deer path. The other day, on a woodland ramble, I traced a ledge carved into the side of the hill behind Minister Lake. This sliver of a footpath would have been all but imperceptible to my eyes without the thin line of hoof prints unwinding the puzzle between trees, brush, and snow. Smack-dab in the middle of the path, the deer seemed to lie down, or rustle around for something. An area of snow matted down, partially decayed leaves unearthed, I wondered if this is where my deer had spent the night. Or had it merely found a meal beneath the snow?

The previous evening, returning to my house with handfuls of laundry, the sounds of the world ceased to sound. For a moment, all I possessed was vision, and my vision took me into another world. The deer came unexpected, catching my attention with a bounding jump that seemed to require no energy at all. Its movement was so seemingly effortless, and the light just so – the sun had already set and the world was journeying into a deep wintery dusk – that I was drawn not only out of my own mind, but nearly out of my own body. The first deer made another leap through the falling snow, drawing my attention to its runner up, who moved with the same graceful enchantment as the first. There were three in all, and I watched them until they were gone from sight – bounding their way into the fading colors of the wood. I have almost never seen a single deer. Their tracks run in curves and parallels – deer, it seems, like the company of friends, but are no copycats.

Eventually, I made my own way in the woods above Minister Lake. I had never wandered this far around its edge before, and I happened upon a cluster of small white pines. They were dwarfed by almost every surrounding tree - short enough that I had to stoop low to clear the outer branches upon entering this sacred space. The stillness was unrivaled. I was surprised – and not surprised – at the boisterousness of my own movements. As soon as I stopped – nothing. One could never hope to win a game of hide and seek with an animal of the forest. The spaces between the pines were just right for hiding me, though. I felt as if I was in an open and airy home. At a clearing in the midst of that enchanted place, I looked up to the sky and said: thank-you.

Then, I plodded home happy, in all my noisy glory.