|The snowy woods.|
It is as if you are wrapped in a dime store snow globe, all on your own. Your personal, magical world.
The snow muffles traffic sounds and seems to put distance between you and the other voices of the town. The air always seems warmer when snow falls, I have noticed.
As snow fell on Thursday afternoon -- a light snow, after the heavier stuff of the morning left a foot of white -- I walked down the hill and across the empty pond hole. The snow was nearly to my knees and I had to lift my heavy boots high to walk.
The hood of my coat had fallen back and I was warm, even sweating, from the exertion of shoveling snow and taking a walk down our long driveway to see if, perhaps, the mail carrier had made it through. No mail. The road had not yet been plowed, although I saw a large pickup drive by, twice, its road noise softened by the snow.
|Rose thicket in the woods.|
|Branches hang heavy with snow, exposing the heart of the tree.|
Then on to the driveway and up the steep hill -- not quite done yet, though weary. I traipsed into the cedar grove, feeling the group of Sanctuary Trees envelope me with their protective embrace. The snow was pristine and unmarked.
|A chorus of rabbit tracks in the snow.|
Saturday and Sunday brought much thawing, although the snow remains fairly deep. Today we wait for the next storm to arrive -- possibly another 12 inches, they say. Snow loses its charm after so much time of poor travel conditions, wet and mud and so on. But after two very dry years, I welcome this late winter snow. It will bring much needed moisture to the gardens and orchards. It won't be long before my baby cabbages will go into the ground and I will plant rows of snap peas and snow peas, kale and collards.
Without warning, summer will set in and the tomatoes and peppers will be in bloom. Such is the turning of the seasons.