Walk in a Snowy Woods

FROM WHERE I SIT   Walk in a Snowy Woods    February 2, 2013        Pat Spilseth

“Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow…

The woods are lovely, dark and deep

But I have promises to keep.

And miles to go before I sleep…”   Frost’s “Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening.”

The woods I walk in each day are filled with deep, dark stands of pine and hardwoods.  Icy, snow drifts lie in crunching chunks, melting and refrozen, marked with footsteps of other walkers in the woods.  Tracks of dogs, deer, and furry squirrels, mice and a red fox, cross-country skiers and snowmobiles cast shadowy images into the woods.  Others must be seeking pathways to quietness on these powdery, winter days of grayness. 

A canopy of bare branches stretches toward the heavens.  From a tangled maze of dead trees, I emerge onto paths winding through tree silhouettes and fallen tree houses of childhood, climbing days of yesterday.  Open clearings of undisturbed snow welcome me to rest a bit.  Though I love to watch the snowflakes float and settle in marshmallow drifts, I uncover unexplored tracks that tease me once again into the silent woods. Tall, stalwart tree trunks lend solid balance and support on my path, often treacherous, as I climb crusted trails left behind by other walkers in the woods. 

My boots make tracks in the virgin snow, leading up and down the rolling hills that used to be cross-country trails for my family.  Winter afternoons we’d set out on long, waxed skis, hoping to tire our children, enticing them to take naps so mom and dad could have a few minutes of rest, of quiet togetherness.

Peace reigns in the snowy woods, a peaceful quiet not found elsewhere. “The woods were made for the hunters of dreams/The brooks for the fisher of song.”  Sam Walter Foss  

Whenever I wander into the woods, Buddy, my brown, black and white Beagle companion with the soft, floppy ears, is by my side.  Intended to be my son’s Christmas present, Buddy was to be a pet friend of allegiance and comfort.  However, Andy’s college life and jobs have made the little Beagle become my Buddy, my tag-along companion from early coffee and newspaper mornings to afternoon walks in our woods.  We meet and greet each neighborhood dog pal: Sunny, Sailor, Goldie, and Doodle.  Later, in the long, dark, evenings of winter, Buddy and I share Mom’s wool afghans as we snooze on the family room couch.   Buddy’s four feet rest in the air as he snores, just like his alter-ego, Snoopy.

Back inside the house, the telephone rings, others bustle in and out, awakening me with clunking footsteps and news alerts.  Appliances swish, churn and gurgle; phone calls, letters, and e-mails need to be answered; dirty dishes call to me from the kitchen.   Time demands and promises I’ve made to myself and others break the quiet peace I find each day with Buddy in the silent woods where we walk and dream.   523 words