“From the railhead to the boatyard, from the factory to the farm, from the mine to the mill yard, I’ve weathered the storm,” – Gordon Lightfoot

I moved along a makeshift trail, my boots leaving clearly marked footprints in the snow. The white blanket was about a foot deep, but it was light and fluffy. At the ground level in those tracks, the snow was wet, likely because of the cold precipitation falling on the relatively warmer ground. I saw the fresh tracks of two deer ahead of me. I continued ahead, not really expecting that our paths would cross out there under the maple trees, along the cold, black snake of a river that flowed nearby.

From my vantage point, I could see the water moving very slowly and deliberately, almost as though if it moved any slower it might freeze. The river wa

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