My boys found wolf tracks in the forest behind our house. They made bows and arrows out of pine branches and went looking for the pack. It didn’t take long until their friends were here, too, and our backwoods swarming with wolf hunters, filled with excitement.
But the forest made no promise, nor gave it an award. There were only the raindrops that sounded awfully wet when they landed on the wintry bare branches of birches, rowans and aspens. Another lot gathered on the prickly pines, spruces and junipers to witness the spur-of-the-moment Nordic safari.
The hunters with their weapons zigzagged the terrain for an unexpectedly long time until the quest gradually turned into a game of tag, which in turn soon became a hysterical race around the hummocks. What an odd, but delightful, display in an open-air venue. Free of charge.