A brisk wind was blowing in from the north when I began photographing this clothesline, around 11AM. Susan, out hanging clothes, predicted it would soon diminish, and pick up again from the southwest after a brief lull. And over the course of the next half hour, that was exactly what happened. I wonder how long it took for her to understand the seasonal nuances of the breezes there; as she much preferred drying clothes on the line, my guess is she tuned into it pretty quickly.
Such as beautiful thing – and a gift – to know your surroundings that well.
There’s a knoll in the back of our property that overlooks some wetlands. The area has long been overgrown, and there were rumors of a coyote den somewhere in the tangles. This year, though, I’ve only seen foxes there.
For the 2nd time in a couple of weeks, one has been napping on top of the hill. Not sure they’re one and the same, but if so, what looked like mange on its backside was probably just fur molting; the sparse gray is shifting back to a thick red coat. What I am most struck with are the big ears (actively listening in this photo). Stay tuned for the possibility of forthcoming kits!
Consulted a couple of books on these: Tracking and the Art of Seeing by photographer and writer Paul Rezendes, who lives in Western MA, and Mammal Tracks and Sign of the Northeast, by Diane K. Gibbons, a naturalist and illustrator who makes her home in Southern NH. Looks like they’re the front paws of a muskrat, which makes sense as we’re about a half mile from where the CT River flows into the Long Island Sound, with plenty of shallow wetlands in the area for food and shelter.
Willie the Wonder Dog (aren’t they all), playing at Hamonassett State Park in 2005. We’d often take him there in the wintertime, and though he loved the wide open spaces, would never wander too far afield.
One of many wonderful things about deep winter here in the Northeast is full moon hiking. Out in a nighttime forest, civilization recedes, and something – more primeval – emerges; you become just another animal abroad on the land. The senses, particularly hearing, will sharpen to find a new equilibrium. Safety seems less assured, the town distant. You move beyond your comfort zone, go as deep and as long into the night as you dare, and eventually turn back, to hearth and home, a bit wilder for the experience.
