During mid-winter the days are so short I take advantage of every chance to be outside in the light. No matter how cold, if the sun is shining, I bundle up and head out. When the leaves are down, I relish rambling through the forest.

I always bring my camera and notebook and I carry my binoculars too. Birds are easy to spot at this time of year with less cover to hide in, and they feed all day long to keep warm. Some of my favorite birds, like yellow-bellied sapsuckers, only visit the Piedmont in winter.

No spider webs stick to my face, no ticks or chiggers crawl up my socks or down my shirt. I can go off trail and not worry. This is the time of year that brings out the adventurer in me. The openness of the winter woods allows for real exploring. The lay of the land is easy to see. Old roads reveal themselves by broad impressions left in the earth. I can wander up or down these roads or along a creek and see where they come from or lead to. From a hilltop I can see out and around and get my bearings.

The massive trunks of trees and intricate abstracts of lichen and moss on rock outcrops all come into view when the cloak of green is gone. The trail is covered with a crunchy layer of fallen leaves and twigs. Islands of glowing moss and chunks of white quartz float up through the papery sea of ochre, umber and mahogany that carpets the forest floor.

Only the pale tan leaves of the beech trees still hang on, rustling in the breeze, they won't fall till late winter when forced off the branches by new buds. The sinuous roots of these magnificent trees grip hillsides and stream banks, reminding me of elephant's feet and trunks. Knots and scars in the bark of these giants look to me like faces of woodland spirits.

The streams run clear, sparkling and burbling, reflecting the blue sky.

When the forest canopy falls, all the understory plants are in their heyday, reaching for the light. Arching fronds of glossy Christmas ferns glint in the sunlight along the creek edges and down in the bottomlands. Running cedar (Lycopodium digitatum), an evergreen ground cover, blankets whole hillsides with its spiraling, trailing whorls. The heart shaped leathery leaves of wild ginger stand out, and I pluck them to crush and sniff the birch beer-like scent.

In the evening, the sunsets can be spectacular. I often take a second walk up the road to get the mail and marvel in the pink-tinted blue twilight of dusk. I take in the silhouettes of bare trees against the darkening sky and look for the first stars. When I return to the house, the warm glow beckons me in. Standing by the woodstove is more satisfying than ever after being out in the cold.

Maria Hitt writes, cooks, gardens and studies nature in the countryside near Carrboro. You can write to her at mkhitt@bellsouth.net or visit her blog at morgancreekchronicles.blogspot.com