Pine Barrens in the Mist

I awoke to yet more of the weird white weather conditions. The snow continued to melt, and a fog mist rose through the trees, making these woods I know and love so well seem a place of great magic and mystery.

We slogged through the sloppy, melting snow, up the hill to the game lands, and walked its winding trails through the winter woods.

We encountered very odd conditions at the beaver ponds: mist rising, and semi-frozen beaver water, the color of café au lait.

We stood and watched the fog move down the hollows and across the pond. The fog moved softly, gently flowing over and around things, making shapes, appearing and disappearing.

It wouldn't take much to imagine the foggy winter mist to be inhabited by the spirits of those who walked these woods long before us. Morning Star, the Medicine Man, gathering roots and leaves to make powerful healing potions, walking softly, leaving no tracks in the melting snows.

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