Snow Creek

Many years have I lived through snowy winters: England, New England, Oregon... and when I lived in warmer climes, I could not get to the snowy mountains often enough.

I have always been in love with the magical gift from mother nature. As a child I would wake up every cold morning and run to the window to see if it snowed. On those mornings when everything was covered in white I would rush to breakfast and get dressed in numerous layers, plastic bags over socks to keep feet dry from the inevitable snow-filled boots, and rush out to see the sparkle, catch snowflakes on my tongue, eat icicle popsicles and build snow forts! My feet were so cold they hurt, but I kept going as long as I could. Then go inside, hot chocolate and fire to warm up, and right back out again.

Now as an adult I still love snow, with a different perspective. Now I shovel roofs and walks, sometimes the driveway — though my friend and neighbor has generously plowed me out many times, thankfully. I monitor temperatures and turn on heaters and light bulbs to protect cellar pipes and the pumphouse from freezing. 

Yet I still love the snow! (As long as I don't have to drive; I no longer have my beloved 4 wheel drive truck.)  I love the pure white landscape, drooping fir branches weighed down with white, deciduous trees showing off their sculptured form in high contrast, vast expanses of pure undulating whiteness, blackish streams babbling in spots trying to hold back the encroaching icy edges. There is an amazing fresh crisp smell to a snowy landscape, I breathe it in deeply, exhaling steam. And the glorious silence is almost deafening. The snow blankets most hard surfaces and sound hardly carries. Birds roost, no flying or chirping. Animals cozy down in protected spots, nests and dens.

The world is silent, white and still...until a deer wanders through searching for a snack.

Inv #5840