Snow on ice on snow on ice on snow form the foundation of my trail. Winter blows across the oxbows, filling in my path, as though they have never been traced, unless your eye is discerning. The crisp sun shown down to illuminate my history. I found, however, that in places the snow would not give, and my skis would only skim the surface.
When numerous large claw prints were discovered, I imagined hawks at first. Instead, a flock of turkeys stand dormant across the open field, collecting sunlight on their dark feathers, bundled together they find me of no real interest, as I continue to skate along the layers of white.
Each year the snow lays over the valley. Each year it melts. In that time many have discovered life, while others discover death. Like the seasons, we cycle.
What do we do when seasons pass before a love is discovered gone?

Where are the finches? The restaurant is open. Thistle tubes hang from the eves of our modern ranch home whose orientation is maximized for the mid-winter sun. Windows peering over a creek sized river known as the Red, where cat and walleye are known to be caught in its turbid waters.
A Pileated woodpecker was, however a regular visitor due to the water saturated spindles which adorn the area. Squirrels, both gray and red run the spaghetti junctions. Deer regularly graze.
Oil sunflower seeds in a basket hang from a high branch tethered by a cloth rope. Hairy Woodpeckers discovered the Felled by a crafty squirrel, replaced by a 25 foot dog chain.
Oil seed, woodpecker, chickadee, nuthatch, and then, golden finch, american.
The yard is now busy.

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The mild winter presses forward, division, uncertainty are easy to embrace for most. Instead, I propose creativity to solve the dismay, creativity, feathered with humility but certainty that our work is to teach, to research, and to service.