There is so much white. It covers the land in an endless blanket of reflective powder. The trees, the blackened fences, everything. When it first came, it froze the tiny river in its tracks, suspending it in a cold sleep. I walk across this block of water, slipping on it tractionless surface. Below, I can see the rocks and silt even more inanimate in the winter’s iron grasp. As I slip to by backside I marvel that winter allows me to walk on water.
Passing over to the far side, I begin to make my tracks head west. My fur lined boots compact the loose snow, shoving it deeper into the earth. They leave a part of me behind with every step I take as I push on to the pines ahead. They are the dividing point on the horizon. Tall, slender fingers pointing to the piercingly blue sky above. It is such a perfectly etched picture – the white landscape ending in a line of trees, and the blue canopy stretching up and over my head.
I walk for mile upon mile, wrapped in the crystal stillness. Slowly the trees begin to loom in the nearby distance. Their leafy fingers reach out and pull me in, their piney fragrance filling my nostrils. In this place it is Christmas all winter. The cold wind shakes the pine boughs and snow falls on my head. I reach up and pull a handful of it off. I take a bite. It tastes of sap and ice. Cold and fresh on my tongue. It runs down my flushed face and melts. I love its cool wetness on my chin and neck.
The shadows lengthen. As the sun sets, there is a hint of pink and gold on the earth’s white cloak. At last the sun ends its reign in the sky and plunges into night.
All is still
A walk in a winter wonderland