Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving. My sister took a walk down to the pond. She saw two heads yacking at her from a break in the ice. Otters! They quickly dove out of sight under the ice. We have looked for them each day, but haven’t spotted them again, yet. Everything is solid, frozen. In the meantime conversations amongst our fellow Washingtonians revolve around future gardens, seeds and plans for planting. And so the cycles of nature continue.

I have not written since the leaves have fallen. A cascade of oak leaves lines the steep hill to the pond and brook. As nights run cold, the forest is quiet. The frogs are in their winter mute, a deep sleep beneath the icy mud of the pond.
Last week I walked down to the sweet spot by the river, having left the camera behind. The battery had run down. I was wearing my long black quilt coat. On the patch of grass and stones between the two streams that run from the water trickling through the rock dam, I thought I saw a leaping squirrel. It moved closer….a brown weasel…a mink..dove into the icy water and rolled in and out of the rock crevices searching for food. He flipped and dove in again…approached the bank where I stood and looked right up at me, seemingly unafraid. He seemed to make a movement towards me, and I jumped back not sure what this small creature, the size of our cat, Zophar, would do, and I rushed away to go tell my husband.