Tracks, Bread, Squares, Sonnet

17 Feb

Yesterday Hawthorne and I both could walk a few feet on some areas of the snow crust.  Not this morning.  He could walk, gingerly, but attempts to run were quickly abandoned after his hind end dropped through up to his belly.  Me?  I mostly high-stepped it until we reached the snowmobile trail.  Which was at the end of the walk since I reversed yesterday’s course. A couple deer have followed that snowmobile track, too.  A coyote has crossed the alfalfa waste back and forth.  What was funny were the crow tracks that followed my mostly wind-blown snow hidden yesterday trail through the field; I think they were searching for evidence of rodent activity.  Yesterday there were small rodent, squirrel, and rabbit tracks coming out from the hedgerows into the fields or woods. Oh, and this from Monday:  Some small bird was harvested by a bigger bird.  An owl?  A hawk?  I picked up a wing feather (4.5 inches, gray with white edge) and two smaller breast feathers (gray with reddish brown edge) wondering if i could figure out what kind of bird was eaten.  It is already in the mid-40’sF now.  woo-hoo!

Photos for Kirsty of the bread that is similar, but still not as good as hers.  It crackles as it cools.  It has a wonderful crust.  But still a bit damp inside.

Finally: all caught up and on-time with the Civil War Quilt Squares:

Seven sisters and Log Cabin.

And lastly, but not least, this poem by CS Lewis that I have been thinking of with regard to events in my life and around the world:


Dieu a etabli la oriere pour communiquer a ses creatures la dignite de la causalite. –PASCAL

The Bible says Sennacherib’s campaign was spoiled

By angels: in Herodotus it says, by mice–

Innumerably nibbling all one night they toiled

To eat his bowstrings piecemeal as warm wind eats ice.


But muscular archangels, I suggest, employed

Seven little jaws at labour on each slender string,

And by their aid, weak masters though they be, destroyed

The smiling-lipped Assyrian, cruel-bearded king.


No stranger that onmipotence should choose to need

Small helps than great–no stranger if His action lingers

Till men have prayed, and suffers their weak prayers indeed

To move as very muscles His delaying fingers,


Who, in His longanimity and love for our

Small dignities, enfeebles, for a time, His power.

C.S. Lewis

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