I have little to say of my walk through the agricultural fields this afternoon other than it was cold; it was cold in temperature and cold in things to see. Last time my footprints were the first to be left in the snow there. This time there was a highway of footprints up and down the access road to the fields and even some right down the middle of what was last time a pristine ski track. The footprints went through the fields and criss-crossed the scrub more times than I wanted to count, and where there were footprints there were many more dog prints. I wanted none of the chaos I saw on the ground - it only served to remind me of the chaos humans bring to the natural order wherever they tread - so I left for the woods.
 
I penetrated the edge of the woods away from the trail and there in the transition zone between scrub and woods I found a pristine snowy landscape where the only prints were these small mammal prints. The snow there glistened with reds and blues in the setting sun; it had a magical look that warmed my senses after they were chilled in the fields. I wandered around here for a while, noting coyote prints, a derelict wire fence, and an old, scraggly white pine being worked upon by a hairy woodpecker.