it has been snowing since last wednesday.
when i look outside, or walk out the front door, i wonder if we are getting all our winter snow in one fell swoop, or if people feel discouraged as they shovel, knowing that the ground they clear will soon be covered by a blanket of new snow.
on sunday, the wind died down for a bit, and my sister and i took atlas for a walk before dinner.
it was a balmy one degree outside.
the sky was white. the trees were white. the ground was white.
the freshly fallen snow blanketed the earth with the sound of silence.
the evergreen branches sank toward the ground under the weight of the snow.
the unbroken path whispered, “come. you are welcome. come.”
atlas caught a scent of something under the snow and spent a few happy minutes trying to uncover it.
unfortunately, he also got too cold – i am still learning about dogs and winter – and he spent the rest of the day wrapped in blankets in front of the heater.
the wintry walk inspired a joyful exhilaration, a clarity of focus, an appreciation for the austere.
and as we walked along the trail toward home, the trees sang their noiseless song of rich deep wisdom and knowing.
“we are here. you are here. all is well.”