Overnight, the gift of a half inch of snow magic. Did not see it fall, even at 1AM turning the porch light on. Heard nothing. Yet woke up to find the trees and grass wreathed in whiteness. A morning fog shrunk the horizon to a smaller, more cozy world, our own personal snow globe, unshaken. My morning walk reveled in each dark twig and branch highlighted by a thin line of powdery white. I expected the dainty frosting to drop away with my touch, but no, the fog silently and invisibly delivered a mist that froze the snow in place. Returning inside to warm up, i noticed my stocking cap was moist. The freezing mist was so fine that it did not moisten my face, just got caught up in the fibers of my hat.
I expected the delicate white beauty to disappear by noon, but all afternoon it still looked like a flurry storm had just blown through. The sun was not invited to this wintry art gallery. Melting would wait until tomorrow.
For today, these watchwords: delicate and white and beautiful, everywhere i look, worthy of an Ansel Adams black and white large format print, showing the deep dark ridges of bark and the powdery white highlights on each branch, and on the windward side of some tree trunks.
The silence extended the magic, with my “Oh wow” exclamations confined to my mouth, echoed in my mind and reflected in my smiles. My day-long gratitude had undertones of reverence, an honored guest at Mother Nature’s art show.
