What Happens Next?

Brett Ramseyer • March 18, 2026

An existence of perpetual surprise.

On March 4^th I figured that I clicked into my skis for the last time. The late crust snowpack receded like an ocean wave off the strand into the heat of false spring. I stayed in the shadowed corners of the meadows, brown straws of last season’s grass protruding through in a widening stubble. On the final climbs of some south facing slopes, I high kneed over large patches of brown duff to reach the northside descent.

Then full daytime sun cooked into the sixties. Snow fog hung over the ice patches until they all disappeared. Skunks started to spray, porcupines lumbered, and I pulled a tick off the dog. The yellow spears of daffodil foliage pierced the hillside waiting for enough sun to turn them green, snowdrops crested the hill, and I began the crocus hunt.

The clocks sprang forward and the sunset walks started after dinner and lingered past eight o’clock. My nose tested the air for wild onion. I shagged a bucket of golf balls in the front yard in a stiff breeze, dreaming of summer obsessions.

But seasons, especially springtime in Michigan, are rarely straight forward. Fits. Starts. Stops. Backtracks. Blizzards.

This winter produced good cross-country skiing despite entire snowpacks arriving and disappearing a total of four times this season. The most likely final snowstorm (but who knows) hit us before the Ides of March on past St. Patrick’s Day and today I was lucky enough to enjoy one more of those great ski treks.

A fresh cold inch filled yesterday’s sticky tracks where the warm ground melted things from below. But the new snow and nighttime teens made today a smooth ride from start to finish. I hit every trail of the year. Each gliding stride sparked joy. All the legacy trails now connect with seven new trails cut since September, the two newest cut just this March.

I felt the accomplishment of “having built” Ridges – Hike & Ski Tours accompanied with wonder, envisioning more to come. I count my fortune to experience so many days amid the trees I love like an irrational number, each one a unique experience without the possibility of replication. When I meld what is old with what is new there sounds an alarm in my soul that wakes me every day, excited to see, shape, feel what happens next…

This writing was accepted for publication by the Journal of Radical Wonder.

Available here <https://www.thejournalofradicalwonder.com/monthly-challenge>.

Scroll down to the fourth piece on the page. I'm also on their contributors page in alphabetical order by last name.

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Deer Chases Dog

By Brett Ramseyer • June 4, 2026

Sonny mopes in the morning if he must wait for the day’s first run. He bumps my leg with his nose, jumps razor sharp forepaw claws at my back, barks and bounces left to right, puts his muzzle on my knee and looks up at me with golden brown eyes, then lays at my feet with an audible sigh. This does not happen all at once. Instead, they are stages of impatience and of doggy grief having to wait one more goddamn second to spring out the door into a new day. If I shift my weight in my chair, close my laptop, or rise for a glass of milk Sonny’s ears stand straight up tuning in to the slightest sound like the satellite dishes of an 80’s spy movie listening for a nuclear launch. Sonny will get a jump on that run. And he usually does. He waits for me pacing across the expanse of the open garage door while I slip into my trail running shoes. When I cut between the cars with a “Let’s go, buddy!” he starts with a flying leap off the Michigan rock retaining wall and sprints down the driveway 50 yards ahead knowing the way. This morning the 48° start to the day warmed to 60° by 9:30 AM. The cloudless sky allowed sunbeams to cast shafts of light through the small gaps between leaves to reflect off the moisture not yet burned away under the emerald forest canopy. The dappled duff glowed in golden patches all around. Barely into my rhythm in the first quarter mile, my eyes still teary from the breeze across my early eyeballs, Sonny shot off the trail leaping logs in gigantic bounds. His ears flattened to his head and he disappeared into a blinding light of the glade beyond the first stand of trees. He raced out of sight and my heavy jog lumbered forward. Suddenly, a shock of white flashed in my periphery. My head jerked to the left, scanning for meaning to the movement. In a split second, Sonny raced back toward a hint of panic in his eyes. I experienced a literal “Ruh, Roh, Raggy!” moment in Sonny’s life as a one-hundred twenty-pound doe he was chasing two seconds ago now led a charge back at him. Sonny ran for the hills behind me and the mama deer passed five yards in front of me at top speed. Her eyes caught mine and she contemplated the calculus of what to do before pulling off the chase. To which Sonny circled back and chased again until she slipped behind the ridge. He rejoined me on the run at full gallop exhilarated and as happy as any dog can be, but we follow the winding double-backs of forest trails and in five minutes a valley over the deer took charge again and sent Sonny on two more cycles of running for his life. Charge. Retreat. The doe filled with mother’s courage scared off the predator because her twin fawns lay trembling in the high grass matted down like crop circles. Their scentless bodies spotted in camouflage doubtless lay curled, muzzles under a flank waiting for danger to pass and mother to return. Or perhaps it was a single fawn, the other nicked by coyotes last week and she determined not to lose another baby to a canine, gave courageous chase, led Sonny away from child. If Sonny knew what I do without seeing, I wonder if he would have circled, nose to the ground, ears attentive, and eyes alert until he found the suckling hiding and slaughtered it without second thought or hunger. Then trotted home a limp body clutched in his jaws, bouncing lifeless and newly killed. No matter, no unhappy ending today because a mother made it so.

Spider Tents

By Brett Ramseyer • June 3, 2026

On morning’s run with trusty hound My eyes scanned miles of forest ground Where only duff and leeks abound No wonderous sights to astound So, in the car and off to town And in the yard the day unwound Until the sun, exhausted, down Met evening’s hike with trusty hound There I, amid the shadows found A new made city all around Leaves and twigs now gossamer gowned Raised spider tents, the forest crowned Gathering spiders duty bound Gaia’s mind spoke command profound Ringed ev’ry hill the forest round Day’s architects without a sound.