A Clearing

When winter-time grows weary, I lift my eyes on high 
And see the black trees standing, stripped clear against the sky; 

They stand there very silent, with the cold flushed sky behind, 
The little twigs flare beautiful and restful and kind; 

Clear-cut and certain they rise, with summer past, 
For all that trees can ever learn they know now, at last; 

Slim and black and wonderful, with all unrest gone by, The stripped tree-boughs comfort me, drawn clear against the sky.


Winter Branches, by Margaret Widdemer


Snow fell all day yesterday and today was clear, terribly bright, and glorious. In the morning I responded to a comment about otters Janet Mayes made on my post of two days ago, then shortly afterwards went on a walk through the woods and down to the shore near Pretty Marsh. 

When I came home there was a fresh set of tracks coming all the way across the fields from the marsh, straight to our bird feeders, and then off into the woods behind the house. Otter tracks, clear not only from the footprints but from the tail marks as well. I've never seen an otter, or any sign of one, so near the house before, and this one must have been plain as day the whole way across the field, and for some time just under the window, and we missed it completely! Go figure.