Yesterday I went snowshoeing with a friend at a local preserve- the Lisha Kill. The woods was deep in snow- over three feet of it. Whiteness spoke from everywhere - the towering hemlocks, the leaf-bare oaks, and every fallen tree. Blue sky broke in among the topmost branches. Sunlight filtered down, dancing on the white boughs. But it was a cold, white world. Silence blanketed the woods deeper than the snow. Everywhere we looked we were "whelmed- over" by the beauty of this winter woods.

 At times like these, I know that poetry suits me better than prose. I was reminded of a poem I wrote on another winter hike and I share it here:

Silent stories in the snow

of mice and men

and creatures in between.

Common tales of tiny prints,

seeking shelter,

seeking food.

Long shadows cast:

tree and bush

weave their yarns.

Snows drift in flowing waves-

voiceless myths embrace the land.

Ice holds council with rock

in hushed whispers,

 shares the lore

of eons past.

Storytellers all:

though not a word

sounds-

a wisdom

keeps her

silent

tales.

Photo Courtesy of Tracy Watson

What is a winter adventure you cherish?