What a world awaits the evening. With wreaths of dense fog laid along dark paths. Paths that take feet along seldom walked ways above the trees. How I long for the light of the moon to pierce these clouds and light my way with a trail of silver. For the snow has all but left, save for small deep patches, that cling in coldest corners or within deep-root crevices at the bottom of trees. A dog barks out in the night and is answered by the owl that winds invisibly among the foggy air on high. Safe tonight are the little creatures this night.