deep and untouched except for an occasional deer or rabbit track. I finally recognized my turnoff, a huge double fir that had a single massive trunk to about twenty feet, where the two separate trees split. I got out and walked down to the water, my feet sinking to the top of my boots, and there, on top of the crisp, even snow right next to the stream my green wool blanket was folded neatly. On top of the blanket I found a tiny carving of a hand, its small exquisite fingers wrapped around a real seed, perhaps a pumpkin or squash seed, oval and flat. Some little animal had nibbled its edges. Around it, the snow stretched out smooth and unbroken; there was not a footprint to be seen. I couldn’t grasp how he could leave the blanket without leaving tracks, and with an uneasy grip in my stomach found myself wondering what kind of person he really was, until I looked across the little shushing stream, and saw a shadowed set of footprints on the other side, leading directly away from me. He had crossed the water, and was headed into the wilderness.
I picked up the carving and sat awkwardly on the blanket in my many layers. I took off my gloves and held the carving close to my face, where I could get a good look at it. With cold, red fingers I tried to work the seed out without breaking the hands. When I finally extracted it I put it on my tongue and held it there until it was warm. Then, chewing it slowly, I had the sensation that its musty flavor was the source of the flood of tears that followed.
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