February 02, 2007

Over troubled water

bridge

My knee injury is healing, but I still can't risk hiking on uneven ground, through drifts of snow and patches of ice. In other words, I can't go for a walk in my own woods. But being inside all the time is driving me crazy. So on this snowy winter afternoon, I put on my boots and trudged out to the level, plowed road that runs past my house.

The road travels through the wooded area where I live and then turns towards Traintrack Village, crossing a creek just before it gets to the village. The village is quiet on a Friday afternoon, especially with mounds of fluffy snow snuggled up against houses and mailboxes. Snow fell steadily as I walked, flakes melting on my eyelashes and clinging to my hair.

On a windless day, the trees gather snow the way children might gather candy after a pinata has exploded. Every pocket of pine was filled with white. Even the bare branches of elms and maples held lines of snow, white against the grey sky. The dark green creek moved lazily underneath the bridge, moving past icy logs and steep white banks.

Lights began flickering on inside homes, each window showing a different scene: children playing some kind of game, a woman reading the newspaper, a teenager carrying logs for a fireplace. As I turned to walk back towards my own house and fireplace, a car drove past through the slush, someone hurrying home from work on a Friday afternoon.

7 comments:

Kyla said...

I wish I had snow melting on my eyelashes and clinging to my hair! As always, your photo is beautiful!

jo(e) said...

Kyla: I wish you lived near me.

Songbird said...

How beautifully described, especially the trees and their gathering of snow.

Pink Shoes said...

I agree completely with Songbird.... gather snow like children gather candy. Fabulous.

Dr.K said...

I like the pine trees with snow in their pockets. Your writing evokes such peace here.

listmaker said...

We walked into town last night, past trees and bushes covered with a clean blanket of snow. When we got home we stood on the back porch, admiring the trees and listening to the creek down in the gorge.

Yankee, Transferred said...

I love to read you.