it has been snowing since last wednesday.

when i look outside, or walk out the front door, i wonder if we are getting all our winter snow in one fell swoop, or if people feel discouraged as they shovel, knowing that the ground they clear will soon be covered by a blanket of new snow.

on sunday, the wind died down for a bit, and my sister and i took atlas for a walk before dinner.

it was a balmy one degree outside.

the sky was white. the trees were white. the ground was white.

the freshly fallen snow blanketed the earth with the sound of silence.

the evergreen branches sank toward the ground under the weight of the snow.

the unbroken path whispered, “come. you are welcome. come.”

atlas caught a scent of something under the snow and spent a few happy minutes trying to uncover it.

unfortunately, he also got too cold – i am still learning about dogs and winter – and he spent the rest of the day wrapped in blankets in front of the heater.

the wintry walk inspired a joyful exhilaration, a clarity of focus, an appreciation for the austere.

and as we walked along the trail toward home, the trees sang their noiseless song of rich deep wisdom and knowing.

“we are here. you are here. all is well.”

i am currently making a christmas gift. or, i was, until i decided to light my candy cane candle. (it smells like a candy cane! it is quite possibly the best candle ever.) the flame and the smoke distracted me and i pulled out my camera.

when i went to the bathroom to douse the matches, i glanced out the window and saw a solitary brown oak leaf scampering across the snow-covered road. the leaf paused for a second when it got to the snowbank on the other side, but then it jumped over the snowbank and into the swamp.

a storm blew in on wednesday afternoon. fortunately, atlas and i went for a hike on tuesday and another hike on wednesday morning, because the gusty blustery biting wind is hard on atlas’s ears so we are now lying low. it is a little quieter today, but it is no less cold. i took atlas for a morning walk and when i glanced at him a short while after breakfast, i noticed that he was shivering. i settled him on the bed underneath two warm blankets and he is catching up on his sleep.

i will confess that i wondered how i’d survive winter. though i grew up here, i’ve been gone a long time, and i thought it might be too cold. but the cold must be in my blood, because i am here and it is less cold than i remember (by which i mean, my body has adjusted so now 30 here feels rather like 50 in portland) and i love it. also, i had forgotten one thing about this kind of winter, which is that the cold and the wind and the snow make me feel so alive.

wherever you are, i wish you warmth.

“We feel cold, but we don’t mind it, because we will not come to harm. And if we wrapped up against the cold, we wouldn’t feel other things, like the bright tingle of the stars, or the music of the Aurora, or best of all the silky feeling of moonlight on our skin. It’s worth being cold for that.”

~ Philip Pullman, Northern Lights

the caretaker for the unicorns of the north woods lives here, in a tiny ramshackle cottage.

(the cottage is cleverly disguised as a tumbledown shed.)

planted outside the cottage is the unicorns’ favorite snack. the flowers are white, and especially sweet just before winter – after the autumn winds have infused them with the scent of wild apples.

as i bent down, and looked sideways, i caught a glimpse of the road to fairyland.

i can see the sun out my window, so i am sending you some sunshine of your own.

may your tuesday be full of cheer.

atlas and i went for a hike that turned into an adventure!

when we turned off the gravel road and onto our trail, we found a puddle that still had ice around its edges. i took a shard of ice and wandered around, looking at bits of the world through my icy lens.

an evergreen. the sky. red berries. the sun.

when i was ready to turn away from my soft, muted, sparkling world, i offered the ice to atlas. he likes to eat ice and drink from puddles so it seemed like a double dose of pleasure.

when we left the trail and wandered into a field, we found a small grove of trees. they were dark grey and completely devoid of cover. aside from the rustle of dried leaves below our feet, the air was quiet and still and haunting.

just beyond the trees, there was a dark mound of something, so atlas and i went over to investigate.

the dark mound was felled trees. these trees looked like they had been pulled from the ground and loosely tossed into a pile. the tangled roots on the end of the nearest tree reminded me of an old man with a beard. i fully expected him to open his mouth and start speaking. (the old man wordlessly requested his privacy so there is no picture.)

when i looked to the left of the trees, i knew exactly what had happened. there was a large open pit in the ground. it was a giant sandbox!

atlas and i explored the sandbox for a while. it held rocks and sand and patches of snow and ice – and a tiny patch of flowers that resembled soft brown puffballs.

beyond the sandbox was a mountain, a mountain made of gravel. next to the gravel was a rusty turquoise excavator.

by this time, it was late afternoon, and dark comes early, so we turned toward the trail.

as we walked back, i watched the sentinels in the distance grow closer and closer and closer. it felt like they were circling us in protection and calling us home.

if growing up meant losing your ability to imagine, to play, to pretend, then i wouldn’t want to grow up at all.

fortunately for me, i know it doesn’t.

in this moment, i am so full of warmth and affection and gratitude for you.

there are so many places for you to spend your precious time and attention.

whenever you visit, whenever you comment, whenever you think of me or atlas, you are gifting us with your time and your attention and your regard, and i am honored and touched by it.

i can feel your presence, and your presence is a blessing.

may the blessing you give (the blessing you are) return to you a thousand-fold.

“I pick the prettiest part of the sky and I melt into the wing and then into the air, till I’m just soul on a sunbeam.”

~ Richard Bach

“I felt like lying down by the side of the trail and remembering it all. The woods do that to you, they always look familiar, long lost, like the face of a long-dead relative, like an old dream, like a piece of forgotten song drifting across the water, most of all like golden eternities of past childhood or past manhood and all the living and the dying and the heartbreak that went on a million years ago and the clouds as they pass overhead seem to testify (by their own lonesome familiarity) to this feeling.”

~ Jack Kerouac, The Dharma Bums