Solstice

The shortest day of the year found us up in the wolf country and off the grid where time literally stood still during a three day stay. The forest seemed absolutely desolate and devoid of any activity and the meager snow pack rapidly slumped into slush, as warm fog and drizzle shrouded the whole country in gloomy dimness.
No birds came to the feeders. Neither grouse nor hare appeared. No whiskey jacks nor ravens. Not bird call one. Only silence and a wintery mix.
A fitting state of grey for the end of another busy year.
Finally on the third day there was some sign of life written in the snow, as we went for a hike into a little beaver pond not far from the cabin.  Four wolves had emerged onto the trail and gone ahead of us toward the pond, but then peeled off to the northeast as we broke out of the spruces and into the open meadow that surrounded the beavers' labors.
One track of a white tail buck was there and a few from some snowshoe hare. A weasel has crossed the trail as well. But that was the extent of any animal movement.
We had left the dogs in the cabin, suspecting that we might encounter their grey brothers.
Late in the day a great grey owl perched atop an aging aspen.
All was grey save Blondie as a damp Mrs Claus