I could say it’s been one of those mornings—I awoke from an awful, vivid nightmare with a woozy headed “how can I face the world” sort of feeling. My buckwheat pancakes, warm comfort they were expected to be, slid off my plate into the nearly impossible to reach space between my cupboards and the fridge. But between these moments was a most glorious, wintry woodland walk. So beautiful and restoring that I am writing to you about it.
First thing:
The early morning light to the east is spectacular today. After early rabbit chores and before breakfast I stand at my kitchen window looking out to the perfection of an early February sky. Like a field, the sky is white as snow and across it, the sun casts a pale yellow wash of light hovering above the snow- capped tree line of the nearby woods.
I know my husband has to head off to work before long but I ask him if he wants to head out for even just a short walk to start the day.
We are the first people on the entrance to the gravel road today but we are not the first creatures here. An absolute abundance of snowshoe hare tracks greets us silent as the forest’s snowy hush. Quite obviously, a morning feast of low branches has been had. I imagine the relief the snow has brought these winter white friends. Only the day before yesterday, the trails looked and smelled like the dank, red- brown darkness of late autumn.
We walk the gravel road to where it opens onto an expanse of field. A mystical snow fog is rising in the distance, perfectly blotting grey-white over the snow covered evergreen border beyond which the southern sky greets the Northumberland Strait.
Spellbound, we stand in silence—utterly transfixed by the scene we behold.
It is a perfection until I remember the corn stubble all plowed under one day the last of November, leaving the soil exposed to winter's ravages. Tuesday’s wind and rain storm washed and blew the vulnerable soil into red rivulets through the remaining shoulders of red, soil- spattered snow. It made me want to cry when I saw it late Wednesday afternoon.
Last eve’s heavy snowfall seems to be an absolution briefly cleansing the field of this remembrance and me of my daily cares. I take the beauty in for all it is worth and fall into presence; a presence which centers and sustains me.
But still, I can’t shake what sadness I know lies just beneath the purity of the freshened snowscape before me. Someone is responsible for leaving the fields so bare. But who?
A startle back as a rustling in the nearby woods tells us that we are not alone.
But we have not been alone yet this morning. The freshly broken snow speaks volumes of whose silent presence we share.
Whoever owns these woods I am not sure but the evidence of footfalls of myriad small woodland animals tells me who it belongs to on this morning. An absolute plethora of creatures. My husband looks down and says raccoon. Little perfect paw prints, near stepping and clawed, tell a raccoon has made its way through one of the trails we walk upon. We turn and follow them from one trail to the evergreen grove which on mornings such as this is breathtaking.
Like my three year old nephew Eli exclaimed recently when first walking this trail with us and coming to this little opening in the snow bedazzled grove of evergreen trees. “It’s like a dream come true”, his wide eyed exclamation.
He’s right. Like that day, it is positively Narnia- like this morning. This small green space, in the midst of our ever-expanding town, is a wardrobe into wonder. And when we have nature still with us, not yet developed as this is - it is a dream come true.
We turn around at the "pit" entrance. I laugh at the memory of a few days back when one of my sister’s decided to become a “momboggan” and let her two small boys climb aboard her while she sailed, headfirst on her back down the steep, snowy trail between the trees. I leave, smiling with that image as we duck under snow- laden branches, making our way back to the gravel road to continue with this gift we have gathered for ourselves this wintry morning. Grateful-- the day awaits.
Wishing you wellness this mid- winter day.
Thanks for reading,
Jill