Dew helps collect sand on my pant legs. There is no wind.
This trail has seemingly eroded over the past ten years. If something short like a coyote were to walk by, it would surely be hidden by the tall grasses lining the trail. I sit in the field anyway and hope someone will decide to use the dune across from me. A pair of chickadees work a nearby pine. Sparrows visit a clump of bayberry with pieces of grass dangling from their beaks. Surely they're finding a place to call home.
Hours pass and I decide to quit. Upon returning to the trail I find it riddled with what are certainly puppy tracks. The gait is smaller, and the foot as well. When they were here I cannot be sure--but there was rain last night which wiped the trail clean. I'm thankful that they are still here, and hope to have luck again tomorrow.