Last week, after one of the constant snow storms, the Slobbering Beast and I were lucky enough to be the first ones on the trail. No car tracks at the main entrance, no boot marks anywhere. Bliss. We hiked in silence, the only noise the creaking of the trees, the crash of ice and of snow sliding off a branch. We took a side trail, not the main one, and about 15 minutes in the snow was covered in tracks. Small prints — mice or maybe chipmunks — hand-like prints that could have been raccoon or skunk, and then, far off on the rocks, a large dog-like paw print with no human tracks in sight. We didn’t linger near that one.
The Slobbering Beast was in his glory, running this way and that, investigating every scent. It was a reminder to me that the woods are like this for him every time, full of invisible residents. They are there always, even when I can’t see the signs of their presence.
Stories are like that too, I think. All around us, hiding in plain sight, invisible until there’s a shift in our thinking, a catalyst to change how we view the world. Then they reveal themselves, ready at last to be told.
What stories will you see today?