Tiny footprints, in a single line, were the only evidence the mouse passed this way. How frightening, to be so small, crossing what must seem a vast, open expanse in the dark of night, all alone. Perhaps he travels this path every night, but leaves no sign, moving unseen through the dry winter grass. This night must have felt different – exposed to the eyes of night-hunting owls and coyotes.
The same snow that brings us the woes of difficult travel and power-outages can bring unexpected delights. The tracks and trails of our night visiting wildlife give us glimpses of the dramas that play themselves out while we sleep. Raccoons, minks, deer, coyotes, opossums and other creatures call our small acreage home, but seldom make their presence known. The snowfield is a chapter in their book – I am privilaged to be able to read it.
The trail relates the story of the mouse’s success this night, disappearing into the heavier brush, uninterrupted by signs of sweeping wings or pouncing paws. I wish him luck.