It began to snow ever so lightly last evening.
We have had teasing snow flurries for days, but even though there was snow to the north and to the south, we went without, or escaped, depending on how you feel about snow.
The snow fell in tiny crystals, slowly accumulating in a sparkling fluff. We knew it wouldn't be deep, but we also knew it would be sticking around until morning.
It was 26 degrees when I checked about 8:00 this morning. When it was time to walk out to the street to get the newspaper, I layered up, grabbed my camera, and spent some time all on my own, enjoying the snow.
"The very fact of snow is such an amazement." -Roger Ebert
I was not the first one to walk here. Were those rabbit tracks along with the bird prints?
The icy streets wreaked havoc with the traffic this morning, but we had no place we needed to go
Snow covers the blooming winter jasmine.
I smiled too.
I wonder what drama occurred here.
The emerging tulips slowed down, waiting for more warmth.
"There is just something beautiful about walking on snow that nobody else has walked on. It makes you believe you're special." -Carol Rifka Blunt
The little rusty wren on the bonsai bench didn't fly away when I approached.
The morning sun selected what it would light up
I think I found a cat visitor freeway.
Witch hazel blooms
A cotton plant?
Who made these? I'm thinking a rabbit?
Hardy cyclamen are lovely but tough.
The mimi-daffodils would prefer not to wear a snow coat.
Overnight the flakes had descended,
and left a carpet of pure white,
A fox awakened from his sleep,
patrolled the frosty night,
The silent frozen world had now,
become a canvas, new,
For patterns to be created,
by the feet of creatures, who
Had ventured out to sample
this delightful snowy land,
Fashioned by an invisible Master,
with his gifted hand.
His paints so subtle, had with skill,
produced true moonlight hues,
Such lovely shades of brilliant white,
soft yellows and deep blues,
An eerie earth, a changed and strange
vast open wide expanse,
Where, up above, each dainty snowflake,
had started its downward dance
And settled, on the serene landscape,
clothed, in its simple dress,
Where we imprint our patterns too,
across a snowbound wilderness.
© Ernestine Northover