Socked In

The fourth day of thick fog here in the Flathead Valley, inversion, cold air trapped in the valley by the stillness of warm air above. When it is like this, the sun does not rise, only a gradual lightening of the sky from black to gray then back to black for the evening. There are not even shades of gray. Fortunately the fall colors are seen in the larch and birch providing a brightness the sun does not. In this dull light the yellows of the season seem to be self-illuminating.
I try not to be trapped inside and get out for the daily dog walk. Yesterday we found a new trail, got a bit lost, came upon a deer kill, blood and a gut pile. It is hunting season for whitetail. The dog got his face into it so I threw sticks into the lake to get him to wash off. We sometimes forget the animals we share our houses with are descendants of the Asian wolf.
Deer are plentiful this year, yesterday there were seven browsing through the yard, does and yearling fawns, with only one spike buck. Last week there were three five-point bucks browsing across the lake, but now that the hunters are out they hide. The does and yearlings are small here, not much meat if I were to shoot one, even the bucks are not very big. Maybe their density here in the woods keeps them small. The biologists are saying the mild winters have increased the numbers and if there is an especially hard winter this year many will die off being there is not enough forage to keep them going.