In the depths of winter,
when I stand as one of the white birch
when the ravens come to rest atop
silent pines and the fields calm
I finally know I am alive when I hear my heartbeat.
Storms rolled through last week.
Weak and old trees toppled to the ground or fell into a neighbor or
landed on the wire fencing with the orange flags.
Near the pole barn smaller trees were uprooted but the metal roof
still looks new, the green roof glistening when wet.
What little birch are mixed with the pine
still stand, their white and grey skin
The road home, over the hill, into the sky.
Fall is the perfect time of year for building trails through the woods. Most tree leaves have fallen, the intense underbrush of summer, including small trees, weeds, and tall grasses, have wilted. The trail emerges and you can more easily find where you left off the previous fall. Passing by birch, pine, oak, and maple this is nature in all its forms. From the deer runs zig-zagging everywhere, to the seasonal creek that is now dry, to the raven flying so close you can hear the wings flapping, this makes everything else worthwhile.
In preparation for winter and snowshoeing, I spent the past two weekends installing new trail markers, making sure existing can be seen clearly, and cleaning fallen trees and other debris. Now is also the time to scope out where the next spur trail will be installed.