Today, my dog followed some wild animal -- coyote? rabbit? -- down a bunny trail in the snow. I followed her through the trees past naked aspen and birch, an abandoned osprey nest, a tangle of red-barked bushes, until I found myself standing out on the frozen lake in the bright sunlight. There were no more animal trails out here in the open. Just clean snow. It felt like wandering through the woods into a vast meadow. But I knew there was water under where I stood -- or at least, there had been at some point. The dog was already so far away, bent on catching her prey. I felt quiet, and alone and wonderful.
I have not been out in the wilderness enough. Living in the city, I made a point of it. I'd drive out here, get on my horse, and explore that lakeshore. Discover paths in the woods made by deer, follow them until they turned into nothing but bush. Once, while we galloped through a long field, a red-tailed hawk flew just in front of us. I have never felt like such a free, wild thing.
But now that I'm out here, the woods and the lake and the meadow -- they're all just the backdrop to the mundane ins and outs of my regular life.
It's February, now.
A new goal: get into the wilderness at least once a week.
As for January's goals (complete my four sewing projects, ride a horse, write a poem, buy a calendar), I did do a few of them. I sewed one summer sundress, with much frustration and some swearing and lots of wishing my mom were there. I did not ride a horse, but I did learn to drive a team of them and have, in the last week, driven four sleigh rides. I wrote a poem about a coyote. I bought this calendar.
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