Under the boughs.
Under the boughs.
There's not another person on the trail,
no tracks on the pristine lake,
on the drive out of Ely
a black wolf crossed the road,
three days ago a pair of swans scooped low
out of the cornflower sky like clouds dropping,
the black on their feathers winking
just like the tail and ear tips of the diminutive ermine
we spooked off the trail twenty minutes ago.
Behind us our tracks are beginning to shadow as the sun falls lower.
It feels good to inhale winter and wilderness,
to swallow up solitude in the last hours before Spring.
This place is so much more than a designation on a map,
it has a heartbeat as singular as our own fingerprint,
it has power to rejuvenate, to inspire,
to deliver passion and promise.
These are the tracks we pick up on the way out of the woods.
©Timothy James Stouffer All Rights ReservedEly, Minnesota 03/19/2020