Daily Journal #21

The rolling hills, once alive with the wanderings of cattle, the innocent frolicking of children, and the silent persistence of the beautiful flowers and grass, are now covered in a thick blanket, one that extends for as far as the eye can see. The trees, now just skeletons of their former beauty and size, spring forth from the unyielding cover. The flakes are falling gently from the sky so that they just barely come to a rest on an outstretched hand. Each flake robust flake different from the rest, yet all so light and delicate. The unending white stretched out in all directions. The brilliant white of the snow reflects the sun back and is nearly blinding, especially when first coming out from indoors. The snow is a single undisturbed layer, except for some of the spots where a dear or bird looking for their food has left their mark to be filled in. The product of a few seeds, this cold and barren season will be over when the sorrow of the Harvest has been abated. The frozen river once churning and always changing, now is solid, predictable. The absolute silence and stillness is a calming comfort. The warmth of your breath is suddenly visible, billowing out every time you exhale. Off in the woods, far from any house or town, a herd of deer scour the forest floor for a little bit of still green grass to satisfy their hunger. Cardinals flit by, fast as a flash, easy to see against the bland background, like a drop of blood on a piece of paper. Most birds have since left in search of warmth, leaving the skies empty and the woods quiet. The dry, crisp air stings ones lungs, yet it invigorates like nothing else. People are bundled up in their heaviest coats. A large hill will most likely be carved out with the tracks of many sleds, boot prints littering the ground about it.