The bad news: I've got close to 30 inches of snow to manage before we can get out of the driveway. More bad news: Temperatures likely will fall to single digits tonight, freezing it all in place.
As those who know me understand, I'm a stubborn man, so, over the objections and concerns of Lyn and neighbor friends, I fought my way out the door this morning to see what's what.
I quickly learned that simply walking in this much snow amounts to a physical workout. Getting up from a fall helped me understand what it might be like to fall, hurt and lost in the wilderness, in deeper snow. I got up and got going.
What I saw is a transformation of the landscape, physical and psychological. Some objects and plants just disappear. Others are made smaller. Still others are beautified by the unusual cloak – or touch – of unsoiled whiteness.
The change can be disorienting. My land looks empty in spots. As if plants have been uprooted. Stones do not exist. Boulders, lanterns wear snow caps, if they can be seen at all.
|Photo By Lyn May|
Here's how that pollarded maple looked when I wrote about it in this post.
Lyn, who dislikes this tree, also didn't like my snow trek, thinking I was asking for trouble. She documented the condition I was in after about a half hour out there. And to be honest, I did feel icy and shivery.
So, I'm back in, and the sun is out – in a hazy, after-the-storm way. I looked out the window of my writing room at my next-door neighbor, Tim, scooping and tossing big shovels of snow. Across the road, my good friend Harry has cranked up his snow blower.
These two young fellows have given this ol' snow fighter a mighty dose of motivation. But you know what I always say about motivation: It lasts for seven seconds.