On late November walks in the village or the woods, simple truth sometimes comes flooding into one's senses like the wild north wind skirling through telephone wires or a river singing under its comforter of ice. Even the sleeping trees seem to echo that truth as we look up at their bare arches against the sky. However one feels about the long white season, being here and truly present in it is something vast and humbling, all at the same time.
When it falls, early snow is like popcorn, intensely blue and spangled like stardust, moist and coming to earth in clouds of huge fluffy flakes. It fills the garden in its whirling dance and seems to give off its own clear and elemental light. Snow and blustering go together hand in hand, and the north wind plays its own blithe games with the white stuff, sculpting artful drifts and rippled slopes and even a spiral or two, here and there.
It's the light that grabs us every time and in every season. No two snowflakes are alike of course, but who knew that they are filled with light? The thousand-and-one shades of blue on offer among our native hills are intoxicating, and the taste of fresh snow on the tongue is something to sing about.
The two cannot be seen, but the scribe and her canine companion are present in the morning's image - two thoughtful entities wandering along in the blue and watching the day unfold. This week, they have much to be thoughtful about, for the person they love most in the whole wide world will be undergoing cancer surgery in a few weeks, and their loving thoughts are wrapped around him.