Finally, Tuesday, I made my first snowshoe. It was cold. Only 20 when I went for my walk at 1:00 but that was better than 6 at 8:00 am. I like to go first thing after my outside chores but, 20 was cold enough! I love my quick step snap on snowshoes with their special boots! I can just pop them on and GO! Apparently, not quick enough for Runa! This is her saying lets go...Enough with the photography! She loves to snowshoe as much as I do...maybe more!
Runa diving into the snow after a mouse. Occasionally she actually captures one!
Ok ~~~ Let's Run Down the HILL!!
Ready ~ Set ~ GO!
Wheee! That was fun AND warming too!
Time for another snowshoe right NOW. Today it is a bit warmer closer to 30. Hope you enjoy this poem...it awakens a desire in me for a night snowshoe. I have been burning the candle at both ends these days with all my Etsy work and Holiday preparations. Things might be slowing a wee bit which I hope will help me bring more balance into my life. Like right NOW...I will publish this and snap on my shoes and take Runa for a romp! Happy Snow!
First Snow
The snow
began here
this morning and all day
continued, its white
rhetoric everywhere
calling us back to why, how,
whence such beauty and what
the meaning, such
an oracular fever! flowing
past windows, an energy it seemed
would never ebb, never settle
less than lovely! and only now,
deep into night,
it has finally ended.
The silence
is immense,
and the heavens still hold
a million candles; nowhere
the familiar things:
stars, the moon,
the darkness we expect
and nightly turn from. Trees
glitter like castles
of ribbons, the broad fields
smolder with light, a passing
creekbed lies
heaped with shining hills;
and though the questions
that have assailed us all day
remain—not a single
answer has been found—
walking out now
into the silence and the light
under the trees,
and through the fields,
feels like one.
began here
this morning and all day
continued, its white
rhetoric everywhere
calling us back to why, how,
whence such beauty and what
the meaning, such
an oracular fever! flowing
past windows, an energy it seemed
would never ebb, never settle
less than lovely! and only now,
deep into night,
it has finally ended.
The silence
is immense,
and the heavens still hold
a million candles; nowhere
the familiar things:
stars, the moon,
the darkness we expect
and nightly turn from. Trees
glitter like castles
of ribbons, the broad fields
smolder with light, a passing
creekbed lies
heaped with shining hills;
and though the questions
that have assailed us all day
remain—not a single
answer has been found—
walking out now
into the silence and the light
under the trees,
and through the fields,
feels like one.
Mary Oliver
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