We trudge on through the glorious slush, the fresh, metallic air. I’m having a memory of Belle as a toddler in these very woods, running out ahead of Honey and me with her dangly little stringed mittens, her little blue hat with its pompom, and then turning to run back, Honey bending down to scoop her up every time. “Thank goodness you’re back!” he said, over and over again. “We missed you!”
