How can there be these tracks
across the hardened crust of snow
and no trace of their makers?
Many have passed
or made incursions here:
elk and coyote,
rabbit shadowed by fox,
junco and jay.
I’ve built a forest of anticipation
from these remnants of data:
flights of black and white pinions,
wary and determined paws,
stately antlered shapes
among the dormant
trunks of fir.
But winter instead
presents a different parity,
where elk disintegrate
into sets of prints,
and familiar calls and twitters
reduce to scratches in the snow.
I have broken trail since Ohanapecosh.
I listen for a rustling in the trees
and stare back at the narrow grooves
my skis have cut.
Christine Hague
Christine Hague has written for The Concord [NH] Monitor as well as columns in three weekly newspapers. Her stories and poems have been published in The Aurorean, Thema, Around Concord, Earth’s Daughters, The Henniker Review, Trajectory and other magazines. She and her husband live in New Hampshire.