Cecil the Solstice Weasel
By Tamara Anderson
‘Twas the day before Solstice and all through the field,
There were tracks, trails and stories being revealed.
All the trackers were walking with observant care,
In the hope that short-tailed Cecil might be there.
Then, what to our wondering eyes should appear,
A trail heading east, made by a white-tailed deer,
Something crossed its path with a galloping habit,
I knew in a moment, it must be a rabbit!
After the quick rabbit, a coyote trail came,
Then we saw another trail that wasn’t the same.
A red fox was hunting near a rock pile,
“Cecil the weasel was here!” I said with a smile.
We saw four tiny tracks and a tail print on snow,
Where the weasel had waited, crouching down low.
Down a hole, he had been with a leap and a bound,
Cecil must have been hunting and doing his rounds,
Preying on deer mice, meadow voles and short-tailed shrews
A glossy-coated hunter on a night-time cruise.
The fox attempted to thwart his fiendish ways,
Culminating in an exciting, high-speed chase.
From across the field, we heard a raven chorus.
We followed Cecil’s trail to the edge of the forest.
Here, there were mystery tracks on the snow surface,
Made by a small mammal exploring with purpose.
The width of her trail was much smaller than Cecil’s
Could it be? Were these the tracks of a Least weasel?
Her surface walk and rope-like scat confirmed the truth.
Looking across the field we rose with gratitude,
For the gift of stories, fresh air and warm sunlight.
Happy Solstice to all and to all a good night!