It's falling right now. Has been all day. The garden fence outside my window has been dipped right down to the ground by a drift. All that was unsightly and out of place and unfinished about our yard just a few days ago has vanished underneath a cloak of cold perfection. The trees are no longer bare, dressed in finest white fur right down to their fingertips.
Some flakes are fatter than others. There's just enough room to slide under the fence on the sled if you lie flat.
The best part is the quiet the snow brings. The peace. Falling, falling, falling without a sound. And no sound upon landing, except for maybe the tiniest sigh. My movement across it, on cross -country skis is quiet too.
While the sight of it elicits shrieks of joy from all of our throats, I've also
noticed a calming effect. I've caught my children lying motionless in
their angel prints, or on their sleds, looking up at the sky, saying nothing, for minute after
minute. Are they listening for something?
My sister and I limboed under this laden branch yesterday, determined not to disturb the perfection. Then my father came through and, just like the boy he is, whacked the branch with his ski pole and watched it rise before him.
We skied up to his cabin to admire the view. It pained me to see it looking so uninhabited and remember that time changes everything. Everything must change.
Except for this view,
and the reassuring sound of ponies munching sweet feed