At first the forest seems quiet when there’s snow – it’s still. Almost like everything has stopped to sleep until spring. And yet…there’s the soft trickle of water below the ice on the creek. The solitary call of a bird. The rustle of the breeze through the treetops. And crisscrossing the new snow are tracks – the echo of critters who have recently passed by. Moose. Elk. Squirrel. Rabbit. Mouse. I saw their fresh tracks. But I didn’t see them. Perhaps they saw me.