Beyond the stands of beech, a forest of hemlock lines the western edge of my ridge line. It’s a dark and moody place, where winter is deepest. On windy days, this spot is also most protected. This is where the owls haunt, hawks shadow, deer bed, fox lurk, porcupine shelter and squirrels play. I love this place.

Within the hemlock wood, water pools in dips between dark stone ledges, and bright moss shimmers in low sunlight. Looking down, I find time standing still; days and weeks frozen between sheets of ice . . .