Ten o'clock in the morning, and I've
just returned from my ordinary three mile walk outdoors. Ordinarily
an hour, today a little longer, it's slick underfoot.
The natural-world-quiet has a
different sound on a snowy day. The snow flakes themselves whisper.
The creek water is not yet frozen, it chuckles. But small wild
creatures are mostly gone to ground. Except for the last minute
shoppers at my bird feeder when I came back home.
I want to simply experience this
beauty.
Anchored in reality, though, I'm also
sigh.
I feel the gray, and the weight we'll
shovel, feel that old, Here we go again.
Both-and. Sigh. Smile.
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