These old growth woods refuse to let in the Spring. The fast moving steam still undercuts shelves of ice. Shafts of sunlight manage to energize the colors of tree moss but offer us  no warmth. Surprised but accepting we head deeper into the woods.

Aki has brought along another human member of the house who has her orange frisbee. Between tosses the thrower spots a belted kingfisher perched across the stream. Patient and wise for a bird, it stays in place on the spruce branch forty feet above the stream. I wish we could watch its steep dive for food in the stream but only grow cold waiting for it to drop.

Further upstream I think I hear bird song but find its only Aki squeezing her frisbee for the squeaking noise it makes. Then a echo of the squeak sounds above us. The winter wrens are back. One accepted Aki’s challenge to sing. 

Wanting warmth with our sun we turn around and follow the stream to tidal flats of sleeping grass, the color of light mud. The trail takes us along the edge of a rich pond still covered with a skim of ice. We pass a woman carrying a long range camera so I ask her is she has seen any birds. “Just a couple of blue herons,” she answers, “but there is a river otter.” Apparently it scared her breaking through the pond ice near the trail. 

Our local newspaper has been full of otter sighting reports. Six were seen often this winter fishing in the artificial lakes that border our busiest road. Hoping to get our own chance to watch an otter we start toward where the woman saw it. Close to  the sight I hear ice breaking followed by a splash. Expecting otter, I see a four year old dressed in pink tossing a series of stones onto the thin pond ice. My heart breaks with the ice.