Other Musics

There's the soft music of snowflakes falling among the trees and the muffled sound of my footsteps moving up the snow drowned trail into the woods. I feel (rather than hear) the rustle of my parka as it brushes against the old rail fence.

Somewhere up the trail, the chickadees are heralding my appearance with a song, and their tune is a cheery one in which the words are all about suet and sunflower seeds. Their feeder is suspended on a big old hemlock, and it sways back and forth in the north wind, the whole tree sighing and crackling in the cold.

In the gorge, the river is still open and running freely over the rocks, and it sings a boisterous winter song. I look up and think about climbing the gorge to see what the world looks like on such a day - in years past, I sat up there on the edge in early December, and I felt as though I was at the pinnacle of the Himalayas with the whole world spread out at my feet. Prudence wins out now - there is a lot of ice on those rocks, and it is a long way to the bottom. Perhaps things will be different tomorrow, and I shall be able to make the climb.

This little life of mine cannot be called exciting in any measure, but it has its moments of quiet contentment.