Today's walk

November 21, 2025

Today’s walk began as a walnut minefield obstacle course. Damp leaves camouflaged vine tripwires. Somehow I managed to step in poo.

The deer bedding down by the old truck stood her ground, stamping her feet. I looked away, wary of making eye contact. I didn’t want to frighten her. She looked comfy in her semi-hidden spot.

Wood smoke hangs in the misty air. The faint undertone of pellet stoves lingered, too, which is more bitter, harsher than wood. Winter heating has begun in earnest.

I surveyed the landscape. Green has given way to brown with splashes of red, orange and yellow littering the ground. There are no more frilly extras. All the leaves will be gone from the trees soon, and the first frosts have culled most of the fleshy plants. A sad but inevitable cycle.

Not a sound came from the woods, not a sigh. Not until a single call from a Blue Jay. Sentinel of the trees. A distant crow replied before everything fell silent again. Quiet time has begun. Life is hidden, hibernating, waiting.

Corn husks have slithered through the upper fence, creeping across the trail. Ghosts of the summer green fields, they rattle in the breeze. Scattered bits of corn lay near bald ears like teeth that have fallen out. The woodland creatures will scavenge and eat whatever they can find as food grows scarce.

Mary stood at the top of our far hill, watching as we walk by her. I said a quick prayer of thanks before we descended the path, ever careful on rain damp leaves and loose rocks and fallen branches.

The little forest was stark in its emptiness, almost naked against the coming winter grey. The clouds looked like snow this morning, though it’s too warm. Evergreen trees and holly remind me that life is there. Their green remains to offer hope.

Titan missed all of this. He sniffed the trail and bushes and sticks and rocks. He’d have his own tales to tell if he could speak our language. I’d love to know his secrets. Who’s been there and left their messages? The entire woods are a newsfeed of sorts. Bulletin boards with branches.

A neighbor fired up their truck, loud and throaty, and the spell was broken.

We headed back to the house for apples and coffee.