Morning scrambles to the bus have become more wondrous than mundane as of late. It seems as if every few mornings the landscape that greets my daughter and I on our path down our drive is as perfect as nature gets. The many tree limbs accented in white, create a canopy over our path. It is impossible to tell where one branch ends and another begins, as all trees in our yard appear magically intertwined. It is difficult to keep Emily on track toward the ever approaching bus, as there are just too many sights drawing her attention and her imagination.
She tries to hang on to each moment, knowing that the real world will encroach upon our wonderland by the time she gets home. The plows, sand and salt will have done their job and the sun itself may have freed the tree limbs from their splendor. However, we are still in January and are likely to recreate this moment again and again before the first crocuses find their way through.
This is the very best of winter. It is, in fact, the kind of winter that this generation will recall some day long from now in that way that makes the past a bit more ideal than the present …”when I was a girl, winter always meant a blanket of snow, crisp, white and untouched…”