The night breeze ebbed and flowed. Rising and falling. Rustling leaves followed by silence. Rising and falling. Unseen clouds blocked the starlight, and the big woods was dark as a womb. A final gust whistled through the tree tops, and the first glimmers of dawn appeared in the east, silhouetting a tall burr oak that took form. The screech of a blue jay pierced the silence, announcing the birth of a new day.
The woodsman hesitated on a knoll to absorb the scene before him. Mist shrouded the pothole slough in the low ground. Straining pond moss through their beaks, a greenhead mallard and his hen dabbled along the icy edge. A pair of gray squirrels foraged for acorns, disturbing the sheen of frost that masked the yellows and umbers of the fresh-fallen blanket of leaves. A red squirrel scolded from his perch on a low branch, tail arched high with the appearance of a monarch on a throne.
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Return with the woodsman to the hills, to the woodlands, to his memories.