It was barely a trail
More the suggestion of a trail, a natural break in the trees where deer had left their marks in the mud, a heady mixture of swamp and decay so strong you could taste it. The dog didn't care about the mud or the brush or the branches, those were background noise to his senses, whatever the deer left behind was some sort of hypnotic elixir to his nose. The sunlight flickered through the spring leaves, the wind flittered and kicked that fresh shade of green that oaks wear so well. I should have worn my boots, so now the muddy trail was devolving into a swamp, the dog mindlessly marched and splashed on, I didn't dare to disturb his earthy frolic down a muddy trail into the woods, my job was to watch for snakes and ticks and water too deep, but I saw none of those things that day in the woods.