Another day, another snow storm. This one, coming from the South, is a true Nor’easter, and the prediction is that we’ll get at least a foot of snow. Maybe more. I’m sure I’m not the only who wished the darned thing had just blown out to sea. Ah, well. It is February in Maine.
In central Maine, it started to snow at 11:00 a.m., and I decided to take the dog for a walk in the woods before the weather got too bad. Into the woods we went—me with my ski pole to help steady myself on the trail, and Liam with his usual light feet. How wonderful it is that he is still so spry at nine years old.
We were gone for about 40 minutes, and the snow fell softly on us, on the trail, on the frozen lake. In the distance, I heard snowmobiles, but none of them came close to us, and the dog could trot freely off-leash.
When we came back, I made bread, and as I did so, I periodically looked out the kitchen window into the backyard. Gray and red squirrels were nipping food from the bird feeders. For a moment, I was tempted to let the dog out back to chase them away. But then I thought of the storm and winter and how squirrels get hungry, too, and I kept the dog inside.
Birds also came to the feeders, and the backyard was aflutter with them—chickadees, woodpeckers, tufted titmice, and gold finches. On the ground, mourning doves pecked at seed that had spilled from the feeder. Behind the squirrels and the birds, the dark woods were still, and the snow continued to fall softly on everything.