"Some day you too will wander the wooded wastes, wrapped in your own tattered hopes and fears." She said.

"With each step you will feel your bindings tighten their grip." She said.

"With each other step you will feel your bindings falling, tattered, to the forest floor, soiled and left behind." She said.

She shuffled back into the barren trees of winter, white hair and white wrappings fading, and becoming one with the white bark.

As for myself,  I turned my attention back to the Boreal chickadee I had been admiring a little while before; a new species for my life list.