Day 8
February 22, 2008
Seven-thirty A.M. Two to three inches of fresh powder disguise yesterday’s footprints. You can tell someone was here, but you can’t tell who. The powder is fluffy enough that even fresh tracks are disguised almost as soon as they are created. That one is definitely squirrel… but that other one… almost looks like weasel. Are there weasels in these woods?
Nuthatch tap-tap-taps along the bark of a tree, investigating, searching for insects. Chickadee seems to have decided this territory is not worth singing about. He has given up his declaratory “Phoebe” (Mine’s here!) in favor of his scolding “Chickadee-dee-dee.”
I brush by Dock for the hundredth time scattering a few more seeds.
