First Snow

 

The temperature has dropped and the snow is finally sticking. Large snowflakes are slowly falling to the ground, blanketing the earth with a pristine coat of wonderland. A few birds are flying around disoriented by the sudden drop in temperature and the crystalline flakes covering their grasses. It will not be long before the deer make their five o’clock feeding rounds. The grasses at the edge of the forest are still green and inviting - the mild winter kept many from going dormant.

There is a strange glow coming from the soft snow shrouding darker areas and barren ground. The light is so unusual, that only a painter’s palette could realistically color it.

The majestic oaks are sporting a light dusting of snow. Branches are getting heavier with fluffy whiteness. Knarled and fallen trees appear as menacing figures hiding in the forest to frighten the unaware.

Canada geese and mallards are floating on the Potomac River, hiding their beaks underneath their wings, a transitory protection from the onslaught of snow. The sea gulls are nowhere to be seen.

The marsh is beginning to freeze over – the beavers have done a fantastic job – you can actually cross the frozen damn to the other side of the inlet. The Potomac seldom freezes completely. The volume, the depth, and the speed of the rushing water prevent a hard freeze in most places.

Dry tall grasses are leaning under the weight of the snow like people carrying a heavy load. Powell's creek is still flowing from the ground, surrounded by white patches and icicles.

The ruins of the red chimney that belonged to the Lee family estate in the eighteen hundreds beacon in the snow like a lonely obelisk. I see a few deer tracks covered in snow.

The dying light is casting ghostly shadows in the dormant forest. The eerie silence permeates the phantasmagorical landscape. Suddenly, an owl’s cry pierces the white calm.

My feet leave prints in the pristine white blanket. I experience the giddiness of childhood when we made angels in the snow. It is so quiet and remote; I can hear the falling snow making a barely audible sound as it hits the crunching dry leaves covering the ground in the woods. Green mosses are still visible here and there.

I spot a valley that would make a fantastic sledding slope if I only knew what was underneath. The sleigh my Grandpa had built for me 45 years ago would fly down this slope. Sledding gave me so much joy all day. Exterior clothes were frozen stiff on my body by the time I came in at night with rosy cheeks and a red nose. The warmth of a dry flannel pajama was the ultimate luxury.

The wind is picking up, chilling me to the bones and biting my cheeks, and I contemplate the warmth of a cup of cocoa, sitting in my comfortable chair, dreaming and weaving stories in my mind. I regretfully leave this peaceful but cold paradise, retracing my steps in the snow very carefully.