Walking
Snow over the spruce
January walks are short and very quiet.
Karin Moberg
After the big snowfall the forest goes silent. The spruce bend under the weight and the path is just a dent in the white where the last person went.
I walk for half an hour and turn back. Any longer and my toes start to complain. It is enough.
Tracks
Hare, fox, something small with a tail that dragged. I don't know animal tracks well. I make up stories about them on the way home. The fox is always up to something.
