Skiing Anyone?

It’s very quiet. A blanket of snow covers the woods. Enough snow, but not too deep. The only sounds are the shish, shish of the skis beneath your feet and the muffled, rhythmic tap, tap of the pole tips as you plant them one after the other.

You watch the front of your skies pushing through the fresh snow. Right then left, right then left. You are aware of your even, steady breathing. You feel the cold; on your face and in your nose, but you are not cold. A sharp call, chick-a-dee-dee-dee finds your ears.

You raise your gaze. The trail stretches out before you. In summer it’s a two track road with a patch of grass growing down the center. Now it’s a white river, smooth and inviting, pulling you deeper into the forest. Ahead the trail turns, your eyes follow the tall trees, mostly dark pines, up to the bright blue sky above. A few clouds race through the opening in the trees. More snow, you think, hopefully. The trees in front of you and around you are covered with snow giving them a delicate lacy trim that glistens in the sunshine.

You watch your skis again, shish, shish. Then you look into the woods on either side of you. A path crosses yours, a deer highway through the woods. The two toed tracks of the deer pushed deep into the snow. You stop and look into the woods, following the deer tracks first to one side, then the other, hoping to see the deer, but the deer is long gone. You continue skiing, thinking about the deer. Their tracks are plentiful now, in late December, but in a couple of weeks, when the snow is deeper, the deer will move south into the cedar swamps on the northern edge of Lake Michigan.

You see more tracks. The deliberate steps of a coyote; round with five pads and front toenails. You glide along with the coyote; it’s using the same trail. You look for the large oblong track of the snowshoe hare. The coyote is looking for hare tracks too. You ski over the arrow shaped track of a partridge. You listen, maybe you’ll hear it drumming off in the distance. In the banks at the side of the trail, squiggly mouse tracks dart on and under the snow forming little mouse tunnels.

But it’s winter, the animals are hiding. They heard you coming. Besides the chickadees calling in the trees, the only animals you are likely to see are the snow bugs. Tiny black dots on the snow. You don’t know where they come from. The ground? The trees? Pepper on the snow.

The pines are close to the trail now, bent with the weight of the snow. You duck, but your hood touches one of the branches and you are engulfed in a cloud for fine, glistening snow. You smile.

Shish, shish deeper into the woods. Your eyes falling on the remains of wildflowers that once lined the sides of the trail. The Queen Anne’s lace is curled into ornate balls, icy crystals have replaced the white flowers. Milkweed pods are open and covered with snow. The tops of weeds and brush and thistle all sport caps of snow. A line of white catches your sight and draws your eyes up again, a birch tree gleams against the dark pines. You pass a beech tree, its golden brown leaves clinging stubbornly to its branches, waiting for the spring buds to push them off.

Your mind wanders, when you started skiing, you thought about the cold. Maybe the dishes you left in the sink or the emails that might be piling up in you inbox. As the forest draws you in you think about the trees and the animals that live among them. Much of the time, you don’t think, you just ski.

You turn and ski home on the parallel tracks you left in the snow. Do the deer and coyote wonder about your tracks? The return trip is faster and easier. As you approach the last mile of your trip, your mind focus on what’s waiting at home, in the fridge, for lunch. A glass of pop, maybe last night’s leftover pizza.

A tiny black mouse darts out from the side of your ski track, runs across your skis and disappears into the snow on the other side. You can’t believe you saw it, it happened so fast, but you’re glad. You did see something besides the snow bugs.