January 22

Saturday was a good day at Forest Hill for a hike with my dog, Remi.  The mid-morning weather was mostly cloudy, snowy, a temperature of 8 degrees and a strong, gusty wind out of the south.  On this hike, I planned to focus on the sounds of winter, both natural and man-made. I did my best to tune in to every noise, no matter how subtle. Since my ability to hear well has diminished over the years, I wished I could have borrowed Remi’s acute sense of hearing.  As I started out, my questions were: How peaceful was the Nature Area in the depths of winter? What sounds would Mother Nature offer today? Before descending to Mallard Marsh, I was greeted by a chorus of chirping birds at the feeders including a squawking Blue Jay. Beginning my hike through a serene Bobolink Meadow, I picked up the rhythmic crunching sound of my boots walking over the hard snow. Hiking through peaceful North Woods, I paused by a vernal pond and could only hear the wind howling through the treetops. Also, I noticed how loud my footsteps were as I walked over the snow-covered boardwalk. As I circled Succession Field, the only sound I heard was the occasional jingling of metal tags on Remi’s collar as he walked behind me. I entered a very quiet South Woods where I could make out the faint sound of nylon rubbing together on my winter coat as my arms swayed back and forth. Next, I moved off the trail and walked onto the ice of secluded Swanson’s Swamp. I paused and closed my eyes to participate in nature’s version of a moment of silence that was only interrupted by a few tree branches creaking in the wind.  Hiking past Artist Overlook, I continued along the south trail where I could hear, amid the quietness, the subtle sound of my coat scraping against a thorny Bramble branch that was hanging over the trail. Up on Reflection Hill, my ears perked up to hear the twittering sound of a Morning Dove taking to flight. Next, I descended the hill and headed for the Classroom Building. As I approached the feeders, the sound of chirping birds grew louder. At the picnic tables, I decided to walk over to Grebe Pond where I stepped out on the ice to pause and ponder the solitude of this place. Hearing the distant call of a Common Crow was a good way to end the hike.  The quietude of the morning was broken by my car door slamming, the engine starting and the radio blaring. Finally, I headed for home with my ears tuned in, once again, to the sounds of modern technology.

Winter lays its somber hand


Upon earth and man, stirring


Thoughts of seasons past...


Its bitter winds blow, flipping


Through pages of time already


Written, its moments lived


And memories made, scattering


Leftover autumn, leaving me


To remember spring's cleansing


And summer's warmth... and


Another winter when breath stilled


In the beauty of its silence.

Myrna D. Badgerow