We had a small, powdery snowstorm yesterday, the kind that’s good for holiday party-going over a thick, white carpet under coated trees. Even better, the morning dawned sunny blue and white and brisk.
The loud crunching of our boots in the silent, snow-covered woods and marshes seemed profane. But, when we stood still, the silence poured back onto us, almost liquid, freeing us to feel alive without the need to wonder why. (Brooklin, Maine)