It started slowly, like salt being sprinkled from a shaker. Nothing to get too excited about, but then, it is snow and one cannot but help that childlike thrill of seeing the very first flake fall from the sky. Even after fifty-one winters, I still catch my breath at the miracle of a snowfall.
This morning our yard appears as if it has been dusted in confectionery sugar in just the right amount- not too little and not too much.
It is still and quiet, and freezing cold. The hens will not step out of the hen house and I will be making the trek to move their food and water back inside for them.
I am grateful that I am not a chicken.
The sky is the palest of blue, as though it is exhausted from the work it did last night and the sun is casting a clear, white light everywhere around us. It is a beautiful day.
bowl of oatmeal in hand, looking out at a changed world.
If only it were that easy.