Beau and I paused in the lee of a big old rock (a glacier dropstone) in the woods yesterday in an effort to get out of the bitter north wind for a while, but our strategy was an exercise in futility. There was no shelter to be found.
Boreas (god of the north wind, winter and snowstorms) howled through the whiskery trees, gulleys and wooded alcoves, crept under our woolly hats, up our sleeves, down our collars and gusted into our eyes. The way the old guy was blowing, it is a wonder any snow was left on the ground, but snow there was and plenty of it.
We were chilled to the bone and soaking wet when we arrived home, but cheerful after a ramble in the woods and the fresh, frosty air. Chattering teeth? Oh, yes.
2 comments:
I'm chilly just reading this...but had forgotten about chattering teeth! It's been a while!
Such a landscape you have there! Also, you have children! I didnt realize this till you mentioned it in a comment. You are one dark horse, Cate.
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