The snow fell—covering every living thing.
Last week’s warm and noisy nights have been replaced by a cool, quiet stillness.
What had been just a glimpse of spring, now lies beneath a blanket over a foot deep.
The deer walk slowly through the creek bed, plunging their faces into the snow—seeking the scarce buried green.
At the feeder, a squirrel opens seed after seed, their husks piling at his feet, as the flakes pile on his back. Hunger drives them forward.
Even the birds are wearing white.
The day progresses as it began—flakes falling, the outside world cast in gray.
By nightfall, the clouds had moved past.
Beneath a sky full of stars, we emerged from the shelter of our house, wood stove glowing warmly—and skied along the trails hearing nothing at all.
From the distant darkness, the call of a great horned owl.
This morning all is quiet again. The brilliant sunshine has prompted a dripping from the eaves.
In the woods, the branches free themselves of their weighty loads as I walk past--following on foot, our trail of last night.
The pebbly frozen surface of the pond glistens like a carpet of a thousand diamonds.
Around snowy boulders, the little creek flows clearly and swiftly.
Already the melting has begun.
With the sunshine warm against my face, I walk back past the quiet pools.
The air smells of spring.
Soon.
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