The old country road crosses a hill, flowing steadily past farm fields, woodlots and alder thickets. The highlands are crisscrossed by these pioneer roads, most little more than trails or tracks, and each has surprises for the winter walker, abandoned farmhouses, barns and silos in the middle of nowhere, forgotten fields drowsing in December sunshine, heaps of glacial dropstones here and there, old cedar rail fences, deer and and wild turkeys grazing in early morning. A few days ago, I saw a pair of slim golden coyotes on the road, and they were cavorting like madcap domestic puppies.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Road and Track
The old country road crosses a hill, flowing steadily past farm fields, woodlots and alder thickets. The highlands are crisscrossed by these pioneer roads, most little more than trails or tracks, and each has surprises for the winter walker, abandoned farmhouses, barns and silos in the middle of nowhere, forgotten fields drowsing in December sunshine, heaps of glacial dropstones here and there, old cedar rail fences, deer and and wild turkeys grazing in early morning. A few days ago, I saw a pair of slim golden coyotes on the road, and they were cavorting like madcap domestic puppies.
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