Walking in snow yesterday, the trail covered by three inches of white that fell the night before last. It squeaked under my boots. It fell in little plops from the tree branches. The air was very quiet.
Seeing red huckleberry leaves reminded me of Winslow Homer’s painting The Fox Hunt. www.pafa.org/Museum/The-Collection/View-All-Works/Large-image/91/let__H/artistId__2549/colId__6462/
Looking closer at this painting, I see a story. It doesn’t look good for the fox. Winter can be like that.
In The Rainshadow 
First snow… always there’s excitement to it. There is nothing to compre to the “winter light” inside a house with many windows looking out to snow cover.. that excites me, too… that lighting is Christmas and ribbon candy and peach blossom candies and home cooking and homemade ornaments and, and, and… all in a bundle in my mind’s eye…
As for the fox… I-just-don’t-know…. I wouldn’t count the fox out yet: I have fed a little vixen starvling here this summer and watched her grow in size, thrift and wiliness, from a stunted , funny faced little thing, bullied by 2 bigger siblings into giving them her food, to a gloriously beautiful animal with a tail that won’t quit! The transformation was wonderful to participate in: I leave her a boiled egg every day… sometimes a dog biscuit or a slice of really good sprouted grains bread, soaked in the drainage from a can of salmon, tuna or sardines.