About five inches of snow blankets the forest around us. Our driveway is marred only by Bill's foot prints leading to and from the mailbox at the end of a long stretch. Ice covers the snow in a crunchy layer. "When you go to the mailbox today...," I said. "What? I thought getting the mail was your special walk-in-the-woods thing?" "Yes," I said. "Three quarters of the time. This is your quarter. I don't do slippery." He headed downstairs to his workshop, not ready to do slippery himself.
The ice is not a bad thing for the birds. They make slippery landings around the feeders and don't sink in, leaving no trails. Strangely, winter-coated gold finches have come back to the nyjer feeder which I almost put away in their absence. They litter the snow with seeds for the ground-feeding juncos. A downy woodpecker hangs from the suet block alongside two fat, brown wrens who never came in nice weather. One junco is missing tail feathers, making his little behind pointed and short. Yesterday I tossed seed onto the snow and today only husks remain after the flock of juncos had their fill. The tall conical evergreen has become shelter for birds during the day. At night, when we turn on the Christmas lights around it, I wonder if the birds are mad at us for waking them or grateful for a few degrees of warmth generated by the decoration.
Three squirrels run wildly around the trees and across the frozen snow like children on the first day of vacation. They show no interest in raiding the bird feeders or the easy buffet on the snow. They crash into each other in their frenzy, get upright and charge up a tall, swaying tree. Winter is a playground for the wild things today. The watching humans hunker down inside and think of things to do to pass the time.
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