Steps and Tracks

I pedaled up the south slope just as the wind chime under the old pine began to ring... a simple three‑note melody that always pulls me off the trail. The stone still reads Evermore, moss edging the letters. I propped my bike, climbed the little timber steps, and sat a moment on the bench, listening, letting the hill breathe.

A few minutes later curiosity tugged me onward. I rolled higher into the trees until the dirt ribbon vanished under a stubborn vein of spring snow. There, beside my tire, a fresh paw print stared back at me—bigger than my own glove, four perfect toes, no claw marks. I crouched, matching my paw against the impression, and grinned. Someone else was wandering these woods before the thaw, leaving quiet stories in white powder.

I never saw the traveler, yet the track felt like a handshake. So I left one of my own beside it, pressed gently into the snow, then headed up the trail... the chime’s soft notes still drifting through the trees behind me.

Disclosure: This post benefited from the use of ChatGPT o3 for imaging, proofreading, and structural input. The author remains solely responsible for the final content and its accuracy.