Prose-poem by Jack Phillips (Becoming a Naturalist, Part 49)
The bitter wind cleanses my palette clears my animal brain for making each slippery step an intention a heel-toe meditation with companions on the frozen swamp we forage the berries ripened months ago now fermented sugars extra sweet today these winter fruits of possums and robins and waxwings and wandering the fat moon of February the hunger moon so called by those walking early this land and the snow moon by other poets. But hunger is more reliable.
February/March Waking the Wild workshops. Details here.