I'm afraid I got carried away with the camera this morning. The artistry of snowfall has made a canvas out of the world.
I stood contemplating at the edge of the woods out back, where I could hear the stream rushing at the bottom of the ravine. So glad I decided to slip and slide back in there for a while. There is nostalgia in the rush of excitement I feel when I look at these snowy landscapes. When I was a child, we spent entire days outdoors in the snow (it seemed so, anyway). Building forts, sliding down hills, tunneling under snowbanks and exploring the natural caverns made by snow-laden pine boughs. It really was a magical land of wonders.
And it still is. I just don't immerse myself in it nearly so often - it seems like too much trouble, and anticipating the cold and wet dampens my enthusiasm, and I have so many more important things to do ---at least that's what old curmudgeon inside me says. I should listen to the little kid voice that's still buried somewhere deep inside --
Get out. Go play. Be in the world.
see the faithful dog - awaiting my return across her boundary fence line