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 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. A few deer tracks
are covered by a light dusting of 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 untouched 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 bone and biting my cheeks. 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.
No comments:
Post a Comment