Snow Walk

The snowfall had ended, but it still called out to me across the yard and through the windowpanes. A light Michigan snowfall, but a beauty nonetheless. Inside, the lingering musk of the fireplace hovered in the air, reminding me that I could tuck myself into the worn corner of the couch and reignite the fire, safe and warm inside, protected from the unforgiving wind gusts. But I couldn't stay inside. I just couldn't. The glimmer of the sun dancing along the frozen snow was too captivating to ignore.

The boys and I wrapped scarves around our necks, buttoned up our coats, pulled on our boots, and headed outside. Our boots marked our trail through the backyard and out to the rolling golf course. The wind picked up then, of course, and I tugged my hat down over my ears. My fingers turned numb after only a minute, and I tried to warm them in my pockets without effect. Blocks of ice hid underneath the powder, and we slid around as we made our way across the course, determined to carry on. 

There wasn't a soul in sight. Houses were perched around the perimeter, of course, but that morning was so quiet that you could have sworn that you were the only person in the world. The sunbeams quietly glistened along the unmarred, silver surface of the hills, and as it began to work its way up the sky, it rose majestically and demanded attention as it soared over the tree tops. And in those moments, it was just us and the snow and sun and those beautiful trees, and even though it was so bitterly cold, I couldn't tear myself away. I couldn't, not when the sun was holding court in the land of snowfall.

We tromped through the snow in the way one does when searching for the satisfying crunch of powdery snow beneath boots, and I kept peeking back up at the sun as it watched us make our way. It was almost a shame to keep walking, marring the elegant, smooth surface of the wind-blown powder, but I tried to remind myself that the wind would likely brush our tracks away by nightfall, masking any trace that we had been there.

Eventually we had to turn back, falling down the slope of the course and getting surprised by ice we had missed before. It was so cold out there, and my eyes stung with each gusts, my fingers long gone numb. I don't know if we conquered the snow, but we explored it, and it was beautiful.

 

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O Christmas Tree

There is just no denying it: I love the snow. I grew up in New York, and my winter memories are filled with snow forts, snowmen, snowballs.... you get the idea. Living in DC hasn't quite satisfied my penchant for snowy winters, though it is endlessly amusing to see the city predictably shut down in a panic over any snow or ice predictions (even better when said snow and/or ice fail to actually materialize). No matter, though. Any time we are lucky enough to get a true snowfall down here, I feel it, that magical, blissful feeling of pure snowy happiness.

We awoke to gentle white flakes yesterday morning, and they continued to fall as we made our way up to Takoma Park to pick up a few essentials at the Farmers Market, including this gorgeous wreath that is now cheerily hanging on our front door. The crowds were much smaller than usual, and not all of our favorite vendors were there, but I loved the scene of a thin blanket of snow settling on the canopies and streetlights.

Our main goal, however, was not wreaths or goodies-- it was to find a Christmas tree. How is it that I had forgotten how wonderful pine trees smell? I could have just run from bundle to bundle sticking my face into countless trees, but aside from that being terribly weird, we had to actually pick out our Christmas tree. I was so excited as our tree got bundled up in that plastic netting and then placed into the trunk of our Zipcar. The snow was falling more heavily by that point, and we made it back home just as it started to really accumulate on the roads-- perfect timing.

 

Sometimes you just need a morning like that, one that's filled with snowflakes and hippie neighborhoods and a perfect Christmas tree. Sometimes that's all you need to feel happy.

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Morning Musings

It's one of those cold mornings where the cocoon of the flannel sheets could keep me there forever. Their softness soothes me, and I feel so warm and perfect that it's hard to think of a reason why I should leave my nest for anything.

The wind is swaying the tree branches, already bare and stark against the dim morning sky. When did that happen? It must have been yesterday. They look cold and stoic, those brave soldiers facing the front line of winter. It's coming, you know. 

This sky holds no snow yet, but I hope it comes. I'm waiting for the morning when I wake up, lured from my flannel nest by the cats' insistent meows, and glimpse those thick flakes falling from the sky. That won't happen today. But it's all coming. I can feel it.

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