The sounds of the woods

This past weekend was great for walking in the woods. Alone and not another person in sight, the sun was bright, the air was cold and the wind sharp. Everywhere there were remnants from the intense rain of the past few days and signs the that winter was beginning to release its grip. The snow was patchy, the ice gleaming and slick.

Walking through what many would think to be a quiet place, especially given the distance from the nearest road and absence of people, there is actually a lot to hear.

The crunch of snow under foot, each step sounding a little different depending on the consistency of the snow; the cracking sound of the ice melting from the rain again hardening in the cold wind; the wind rushing across the meadows and tall grasses and whipping through the trees, sounding so much like the wind and waves at the ocean; the creaking, clicking and groaning of the trees and their branches and the occasional thump of a rotting branch hitting the ground; the trickling and gurgling run off and melting layers of snow; the seasonally dormant brooks coming alive to carry water to the river; the occasional flutter of a bird startled from its bushy roost; the call of the birds to one another.

Then the wind calms and for a moment there is a sudden stillness, an emptiness, a change in air pressure ….. and the smaller quieter sounds come through. The drips of the tiny stream running through brambles, berries dropping from bushes having held out for the long winter and survived the feasting birds, the squirrels dashing about.

And then there are the signs of sounds that once were: the woodpecker holes, proof of their distant sound; the tunnels through bushes and matted brush marking the trails of deer, turkeys or bear.

Whoever says the woods are quiet, isn't listening.