Snowy Mornings

There is a hush to our favorite walking places on early December mornings. The village is a different place than it was, only a few days ago. 

Snow seems to muffle everything in the park, the footsteps of early walkers, squirrels scrambling through whiskery branches and running along the frozen creek, dogs barking in the unleashed area on the other side of the woods. Sometimes it is so quiet that one can hear snowflakes falling on the old trees along the steep trail up the hill. At the top of the rugged incline is the alcove where the Beech Mother and her daughters make their home, and we always stop to greet them.

Then there is the matter of making trail. It is difficult to come upon a trail blanketed in freshly fallen snow, no footprints on it at all, and know how to proceed. Do we go forward and defile the pristine avenue in front of us with our footprints, or do we pause to admire the snowy expanse for a while, then find another way through the woods? This morning, we found another way.

There is wild magic here on winter mornings and no mistake. Shameful to disrupt its workings with our bumbling about in the lovely, unmarked white stuff.