The Lingering Effect of Winter

Life slowly renews in the North Country. Whether a wooly bear making its way across a snow field or the tiny silhouette of a squirrel perched on a rock wall at dawn, the signs are subtle. How did both tiny creatures survive the winter months? They brave the chilly days stuffed between blazing sunrises over the Hudson Valley and the long golden shadows of dusk.

Last night the temperatures dropped into the teens. The wooly bear curled up on a tiny island, taking refuse on a spit of high ground surrounded by pooled water, runoff from the days’ thaw. At sunrise, the fuzzy clump of prickly fur looked frozen to the ground. Left undisturbed it warmed in the sunlight needing only the tiniest climb in temperature. Last report, the little black and rusty orange caterpillar was on the move. Heading south-south-west. Very slowly. Just like spring itself.

The squirrel was in trouble. It sat on the ground under the maple. The rain poured. Its ears laid flat, its tiny head bobbed in an effort to keep its nose off the ground. The next evening looking out the kitchen window, I noticed its tiny chestnut color body fallen in the snow. I went outside to investigate. Dead red squirrel. Although the body was cold, it was still limp and had not frozen. Its death was not old.

Blood dripped off the lower branch and spotted the snow beside the tree trunk. Examining the squirrel blood seemed to come from its rectum, but I found no visible injuries.
I saw fear and confusion in the dark pupils that stared blankly at me. I failed to understand what caused the body to collapse in the snow that stole the last bit of warmth from its life. Retrieving a shovel from the garage and I carried the body to a tiny bare spot in the woods. Although the ground was full of frost, the earth yielded to the blade and I buried the squirrel in a shallow grave.