In the structure of my days I find myself and lose myself. I find myself on the blank page as I scurry the pencil around the shapes of words. Words that beckon to the woods, the ponds, the stars, the sky reflecting pool…and this week to Pleasant Valley Wildlife Sanctuary, ten minutes from my home. The park is swirling with paths, ponds, birds and wildlife. The ponds are decorated with beaver huts, gnawed trees in evidence as they work to reinforce their homes for the winter. Bright green ferns are sprinkled amidst shy mushrooms and purple flowers are shining here and there. Yesterday bright pinkish-red prickly bushes flamed out of a brown cattail backdrop.

As I tripped among the tree rooted path around a beautiful calm pond I kept thinking, “Where are all the beavers that make these intricate huts out of twigs, that chew down these huge trees with their little grinding teeth?” I want to see a beaver! I have lived here fifteen years and have seen only two in that time, swimming in a lake far from shore.