“The sun at length rises through the distant woods, as if with the faint clashing, swinging sound of cymbals, melting the air with his beams, and with such rapid steps the morning travels, that already his rays are gilding the distant western mountains. Meanwhile we step hastily along through the powdery snow, warmed by an inward heat…”
~Henry David Thoreau, A Winter Walk, 1843
After the morning chores are complete, and the ducks and chickens have fresh water and food for the morning, Ron builds a fire while I grind coffee and brew chai tea. Ron and I drink our morning cups while Bairre waits for us impatiently. He’s waiting for our morning walk. This week, for the first time, our walks are in the snow, and after the first big snow, there is nothing more beautiful than a walk in the woods.
As soon as we get up from the table and tell Bairre it’s time, Bairre alerts Boudica, and then it’s hard to get my shoes on because a giant Pyrenees is in my face every step of the way. But we eventually get our winter gear on and the collars on the dogs and head out into frozen morning. The cats say goodbye and watch out the window by the front door as we make our way down the driveway.
The road is plowed, so the walking is easy until we get to our favorite trail. The snow is high, and I am not sure if I can make it. We really need snow shoes, I think, but I am wearing good boots and hope for the best. Ron says we will turn around if the snow is too deep, but once we are in, I can see that, while the trek is challenging, it’s worth it.
I am breathing hard and expanding my poor asthma-stricken lungs, but it feels so good to stretch them out as I step high through the snow. I quickly learn that Boudica will break the trail for me, and I can just follow right behind her beautiful swishy tail. It’s so interesting to me that, in the snow, Bairre and Boudica seem so ivory. They seem so white the rest of the year.
Bairre is in heaven, and Boudica is a little bit too. He weaves back and forth across the trail, and I don’t know how Ron is keeping up with him. We make it to a clearing, and it’s so beautiful I insist on a break to take pictures. It’s so magnificent I just try to take it in and remember how wonderful life can be, but Bairre has places to go and things to smell, so we don’t pause for long.
On our way back, I walk under a tree, and suddenly, my hat disappears. I turn around and see my hat stuck to a tree branch. The yarn is hooked tightly, so I fidget with it a minute when Ron comes upon me.
“The tree is saying hi,” he says.
I hope so.
This would make a beautiful morning journal entry. 😁