I crouch beneath a tall eastern hemlock to get a closer look at a little hole in the ground, cordoned off by a triangle of sticks. Maybe three or four inches in diameter, the hole is one or two inches deep. Leaning closer, I discern parallel marks in the bowl-shaped depression; my mind pulls up images of thick claws slicing through soil, presumably in search of invertebrates. But whose paws did the digging?
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