Snow Days

     The idea of snow days has changed since I was a teacher and appreciated those occasional surprise vacation days when snow shut down the world.  Now, a snow day is a thing of beauty.  I almost hate to take a walk on such days as these.  Everything is so pristine and "undamaged" by human invasion. My footprints seem like an unnecessary intrusion.  Other creatures have already traversed the acres and evidence of their journeys are everywhere.  Bonnie has obviously already headed over to see her buddy Gus sometime earlier this morning.  Her path is clear and purposeful.  And she is a creature of habit.  She almost always takes the exact same trail from her place to his.  She and Gus love the snow.  They frolic and chase one another.  Eat snow like any child.  Their fur coats, of course, keep them warm as the proverbial toast.  Thankfully, if I run into them on my own walk, they are delighted to include me in the frolic, though in my arthritic old age, I am not as agile as my companions.
     The land itself is gorgeous.  The limbs are "ridged inch deep in pearl."  A puff of wind sends huge flakes fluttering everywhere.  The red twig dogwoods stand out against their snowy backdrops.  Even the red of the brambles in the wild area look spectacular.  An old wooden post, a pile of brush, a stone--everything has been painted in white in contrast to the gray and black of the tree trunks, the reddish bench by the pond with its black lamp post, and the deep greens of the pines.  A silent winter walk in a white garden is a glorious thing.