Better Luck Next Time

A woman waits by the gate.  She wears a heavy coat.  The hood on the coat has furry trim.  With a scarf over her mouth she opens the gate. Four women and a man follow her into the secure area.  The six people proceed single file down a plowed road.  Several large buildings loom in the darkness as it is now 8 p.m. on a cold spring night.  The sound of a county truck backing up repeats over and over and over again.  The wind blows about six miles per hour. The sky is clear of clouds. A ravine is on the right side of the road.  The group walks further and the road is no longer plowed.  The woman leads the group and most of them follow in her foot steps because the snow is deep.  Walking in a path broken by another person is easier than walking side by side. The ravine ends and is replaced by an oak savannah from where Lexington Avenue can be seen in the distance.  The woman leads the group west and up a slight incline.  The snow is about six inches deep.  The snow has drifted into patterns.  Some areas have only 3 inches of snow and some areas have 10 inches of snow. The wind has carved a pattern into the snow at the top of a mound.  The pattern looks like a 5 foot long spider. As the boots move with each step the snow rises up and splashes forward almost like liquid water. The woman stops and the rest of the group stops behind her.  In silence the group listens and looks around in all directions.  The woman pulls out her phone and plays the sound of a bird named the woodcock.  There is no response.  In the distance the snow is unbroken in a big bowl in the land.  No trees or grass are seen in the big bowl; only the unbroken thick layer of snow.  The big bowl was created by a gravel pit.  As the group waits in silence the light of the sun becomes dimmer and dimmer.  After 90 minutes of waiting the group trudges back to the gate.  The woman locks the gate behind the group.  Everyone struggles to get into their vehicles because their heavy clothes restrict full movement of their limbs. We surmise it was just too cold tonight for woodcocks to think about mating or dancing or calling out to each other.  Better luck next time.  Many woodcocks live in the former ammo plant but on this night, in this cold weather, they were keeping their mouths shut.