Snow falls and melts, resting deeply in compacted, dense units. Like the snowflakes interlock into one another when the mercury hovers around freezing. I go out for a walk. There had only been a few vehicles on the road or, at least, they all stayed within the same tracks to give the illusion that there hadn’t been many. The consistency of snow on the road was similar to thick cream; this white layer atop black asphalt. My favourite thing about winter walks is being able to see the tracks of what had gone before me.
Small paws: Oh, that’s the coyote someone mentioned they saw on the way back from picking up the mail. Delicate hooves: Those lovely deer have already eaten all of the rose hips on the bushes out front. Woah, these hooves are more like moose: Was there a moose here this morning?! The snow has covered up the cougar prints. Felt like I was walking alongside one of the giant cats as I strolled down here last week.
I reach a bend where to sun blasts full-tilt on a south-facing slope. At first I keep the clip I’m at, briskly enjoying the view and the air. Then I stop and really look at the melting snow beneath my feet. The water just above the warmed road slides along, seeping under the fresh snow with intricate swiftness. Little lines tracking the patterns of the snow, making it too disappear. Stopping I can see it happen, walking on I miss the infinitesimally small details of nature. What is it that I want to notice in life? I slow down on my way back to Mandala House. I breathe.