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.