Blue at the Break of Day

There is snow on the ground this first morning of December, but temperatures are definitely in the minuses.  It is cold and windy.

An icy wind rolls through the gutters and dances up the street. It ruffles snow in the hedgerows and swirls through the eaves of the little blue house in the village; it careens around corners, rattling the windows and furiously trying door latches in an effort to gain entry.

On such perfect blue days, it is almost a travesty to go walking around outside and disturbing the pristine snow expanses with our blundering footprints, but off we go at first light to see what we can see. We go out against the wind, warmly dressed and sensibly shod, but ardent of spirit, curious and open to whatever the day holds out for our consideration.  The first thing we notice, Spencer and I, is that the wide fields above the river are deserted.  Weary of freezing temperatures and wind and frustrated by their now frozen food supply, the geese have flown south.  Their early departure harbingers a long cold winter this time around.

Then there are the wide expanses of blue before our eyes.  Blue.... everything is blue this morning: river, sky and drifting clouds, old trees in their cloaks of popcorn snow, pools wearing skims of ice, village chimneys yielding up smoke. Who knew there were so many shades of blue in the world?