My Morning Ramble
Stepped out the door this morning to a world blanketed by a snow so powdery and light that the slightest motion or breeze brought a cascade of flakes floating all round my head, brushing my face like eyelash kisses.
Even the old field plough was rendered softer and seemingly more poetic in its fallow winter state, covered in whiteness. Sleep well old boy, for I'll need you come spring.
The flakes created a bit of Escher-like art along the east garden wall.
Our house, like the meadow bluebird box, had a new white roof. I wondered if this blanket of snow helped insulate the roosting birds on the cold night just ended.
Animal tracks beckoned me toward the sunrise. The birds began to sing their morning hymns--chickadee and titmouse, wren and sparrow, cardinal and flicker--all vocalizing as if to let Nature herself know they'd made it through to the dawning of another day.