Our winter snowpack is transient. We are rarely in the path of the lake effect snow pulled off of the Great Lake to our north. Snow cover appears and disappears quickly with changing weather.

So it feels special when we walk through a forest that has been dressed in wintry splendor. Bear loves to bound along and suddenly land with all his legs stuck in a snow bank. When breaking new paths, snow shifts under every step, and branches and roots lie in wait. Forward momentum requires a certain amount of vertical force. Instead of the delicate paw prints of weeks ago, squirrel tracks are trenches plowed from one tree base to another.

We have a ghost herd of deer that take cover in the woods all winter. They set the dogs barking in the mornings before fading away. The forest is studded with the depressions their bodies have melted into the snow as they rested. Their visible tracks show us that the dogs’ sudden turns and meanders are not as random as they appear. Noses down, the dogs spoil the network of trails, joyous with their murderous intent which is fortunately never realized.