On of the more endearing parts of enduring a Maine winter is the speed with which the entire scene can be changed.  A world of white arrived today, engulfing everything.

Dressed for it, it’s easy to take (although that’s one of the downsides – lots of dressing and undressing), so I strapped on my skis and sloped down through the woods and onto the pond. The brisk northeaster carried me quickly down it, the snow billowing around me like  sails falling when the mooring’s made, with the pine branches waving in time along the shore, cheering me on like football fans.

Dive into the woods to avoid the wind and enter a silent cavern of stalagmite trees and stalactite burdened branches, snow falling so straight and thick I can leap fallen trunks with a single bound, but my yowp of glee is swallowed by the rustling curtain of silence.

Take any picture with an old black and white Brownie and the newest megapixel SLR and get the same result:  blacks, whites and greys.  No turkey tracks today. No sign of any animal abroad until I see the horses in the paddock.

The wind builds as I scoot back to the house to shovel out and put aside gallons of water for when the electricity goes out, as it will shortly.  I’ll post this, then batten hatches. Office closed, roads deserted, a prefect setting for a Stephen King story or a cozy evening in front of the fire.


One Response to “Northeaster”

  1. Sharon Says:

    I now read your “column” each time it appears, right after I log onto the New York Times and read what little (less and less) is of use there. Your writing is so wonderful. Thank you for the gift of it, like the deep, cleansing snow. Or should I say SNOW?

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