This morning the earth is soft from the rain and snow, my feet sink in and my boots are shades of red clay and rich dark humus from rotted leaves and branches. In the woods where I take my walks I find deer trails to follow, ducking under low branches and stopping to smell the wet molding leaves. I feel the ground under my feet. I look closely under a tree carefully lifting the blanket of leaves and I wonder if we’ll have chanterelles to forage this summer or morels in April? Will there be green briar tendrils, oxalic, chick weed, and poke? Will there be black berries, sand plumbs, pecans? My mouth waters at the possibilities. Sweet Jesus, keep walking.
I get to the end of the trail which is a gravel road the one that will take me home.
My stomach growling for three fresh scrambled eggs, a chunk homemade gouda, warmed tortillas and hot sauce. Hot coffee with a splash of goat milk and raw honey. I can smell it. I’m ready to eat the gravel under my feet I’m so hungry. I’ll heat up the black beans too from the other night. I’ll eat four eggs. Oh glorious food, soon I shall have you! I decide I’ll play a game. I'll walk real slow, breathe, if I make it home a meal for me is guaranteed but the future isn't. Don’t be in such a hurry I think to myself. I see another deer trail. There are tiny little paw and hoof prints to explore. I make it home an hour later.