There’s no limit to the size of land that makes it ‘nature.’ No tree count to make a grove a forest. My nature is my backyard, touching with six others yet separated by a low chain link fence. My forest is the hedges along the fence that reached just above my head. Carriers of red berries in the spring and holders of snow cradles in the winter. Just five feet ahead is a row of evergreens, saving my forest from being a blank, white landscape of winter. The branches do not appreciate being pulled on. If one tugs on a branch the evergreen will drop a ball of pricking, green pines and soft, sparkling snow on anyone within its reach. 

Within this forest there lives a wolf with coat of white and gold. She has two different eyes, two different patterns, both beautiful as her fur . The full brown eye on right gives her sight into nature, to keep the peace within her territory. The eye on the left is unique as her coat, brown on the bottom and blue on the top. This eye gives her sight into humans, the ones that she loves as her dearest family.

The wolf has two passions, one of great joys and one of instincts. The wolf steals my mittens when I enter the yard, clad in heavy snow gear to hide from the Minnesotan winter’s biting cold. It is a toll of setting foot in her territory, to lose a hat or glove and have to win it back. 

The golden wolf bounds over the snow, hardly leaving a print. Her wide spread pads are designed to walk on its surface, meant to carry her far. I have far less speed as I chase her, sinking waist deep in the sea of white with each step. As my heavy boots dig deep in the snow it sends up a flurry of flakes in protest. It blinds me mere seconds and still the wolf gets further  and further away.

In an instant she freeze:  her eyes fixed on the distance, her ears perked high. The wolf has spotted new prey. I drop to my knees with a huff beside her, clinging to her shoulders to keep her from chasing down new prey.

 Together we watch as a doe wanders through the yard not twenty feet away from us, followed shortly after by two half grown fawns. Year after year I have seen many deer but the sight can never bore me. With childish awe and joy in my eyes I watch them pass, slack-jawed. 

Their coats appeared gold as they glistened in the sun, reminding me of my own wolf beside me. The fawns had faded spots of white, not from snow, but from child coats soon to be gone. The watchful eyes of the doe met mine and she nudged her fawns to hurry along to the safety of another yard, the promise of better food. 

The wolf wants to chase them, like she’s done many times before. She can leap our fence in one bound with ease, flying through the air like the birds on the breeze. I keep her calm while the mother guides her little ones to food she’s found in another forest, another yard. I hope silently they will come visit again.

 This is the wolf’s second passion: to hunt. With her heightened hearing she’ll locate mice under snow, in one bound she’ll pull them to the surface for lunch. She’s hased turkey, deer, rabbits, and birds. No prey is too large or too hard for her. 

The wolf’s concentration is broken as a black blur runs from the den, a wavering howl breaking air. My Munchkin, my lab, has come to join the play. In the wolf’s lost concentration I snatch back the glove that the wolf had stolen. The black lab, unable to gain traction in the snow, barrels into my side. On my back stare up at the sun, wheezing to catch my breath. A slight tug on my hand and I know that I’ve lost my beloved glove again. Munchkin tumbles through the snow with as much grace as I, this game will continue until mother calls the three of us inside. 

I vow to the wolf and the now white speckled lab that I’ll never outgrow our love. These trees in the yard are our forests, our land, these days in the snow know no end. There’s no number to define who’s too old to have fun, no time when one must lose their spirit. 

In loving memory of Trixie. Adopted June 16, 2010 - October 10, 2019. When she came home as a stray, I cried because I knew someday i'd have to say goodbye. Knowing how much we've helped her doesn't cover the pain. Now I cry for her again. Rest in Peace, my golden wolf. Though cancer has taken your heat, nothing can ever tame your soul.