It is a Red Bird kind of day as I carefully walked the bramble-hedged path through the forest that edged our home. I could hear leaves crunching, not from my shoes… but a lighter slower movement.
I can hear the crusted creek running beside the path flowing gently through vein like openings in the ice. I can smell the wood smoke from our potbelly stove.
I know that on the warming shelves of the old wood cook stove are hot; biscuits and ham waiting for me to get home from scurrying the woods for nuts and berries, a treat while we sit around the stove listening to grandpa’s latest tale of the war he fought during his youth.
Then I saw mother watching from the window for signs of my bright colored hat she knitted me for Christmas, she opened the door and waved; I was late and she was worried. I showed her my overflowing basket, she smiled…I wanted keep her happy so, I did not tell her about the Wolf!