There was a little discussion taking place inside my head all morning.   It was, more accurately, an argument, a rationalization.  I wanted a walk.  Outside, little clouds of blowing snow crystals swirled up the hill.  They distracted me from my work.  I really needed to get outside.  It had been since last Thursday that I'd been cooped up with a bug.  The first couple days hardly out of bed.  But, 20F was hardly balmy.  There wasn't enough snow for snow shoes and my boots weren't as high as the foot of snow that was on the ground.  Walking on the roads wasn't going to do it for me.  It wasn't just the exercise that I was after.   I'd have to go to a trail where the snow would be packed down, broken by others like minded.  It was.  As I approached the trail, I could see the only other person there was packing up his X-country skis to leave.  I'd have the woods to myself.  Perfect.

Someone once pointed out to me that New England is special when it comes to rocks.  We have ledge popping out everywhere.  Backbone, bedrock, spine.

Perfect backdrops for shadows and shelter from the wind.

We have transient rock.  Glaciers rolled them along, dropping them here and there, chips in a cookie.

Several times I passed puffs of fur.  Only fur, no signs of a hunt.   Dog, I think. 

Snow obscures the familiar and provides a canvas for the new.   I can see tracks going up, vertical climbers.  Squirrels.

The walk was only a mile and a half.  I got my exercise.