This is the Way the Winter Ends...

Not with a whimper, but a bang.

I don't know if winter is done. Everyone seems to be hoping it is, but I like the snow and ice. When winter consists of mud, chill, and damp, pervading grayness, that is when I can't wait for it to end. A snowy morning is somewhat like church: you cross its threshold and reverence and introspection just seem natural. An icy morning is like New Year: everything is lustrous and a little bit explosive. True winter is always just a bit at war with itself. It can't decide whether to be quiescent or boisterous, muted or brilliant, soft or hard. In Kentucky, it can't even decide whether to be winter or spring, which is why I say I don't really know if it’s over. Last year, we got six inches of snow in April that lasted all of one day before reverting to mud. In similar style, we had a lovely, blanketing snow Sunday last and now my yard has reached its mass moisture capacity and is contemplating swampdom. Everyone in Northern Indiana can just stop whining already. At least they can still walk on top of the ground without miraculous intervention.

I took a walk alone on Sunday afternoon. I wanted to see the snow on everything without any interruption. One of the best things about a walk alone in the snow is that birds come out to investigate you if you're quiet. A downy woodpecker played hide and seek with me around the trunks of some trees. He inspired my alone-ness. When I heard a car coming up the road, I played hide and seek with it around the snowed bulk of a small cedar. I would like to think that, just like the woodpecker, I was a telltale flash of red in the corner of the driver's eye. I don't know why I didn't want to be seen; just that I didn't. 

After the walk alone, I took a walk with children. One of the best things about a walk with children is that everything is twice as tactile with them. You can't just walk in snow, but must lay in it. You can't just lie in snow, but must eat it. You can't just admire an icicle, but must sword fight with it. And no matter how many times it has been proven that your snow boots are not water proof above the ankle, you must, at all costs, walk in the run-off stream. Feet aren't truly cold until they're frozen, after all. When I walk with kids, I don't see wildlife. I see Wild Life. I see kids. So if winter isn't done yet, that's okay with me. I don't have to drive in it anyway. Neaner, neaner, boo-boo...

Honey Locust don't care....

Wild Chipmunk sighting

Texture

Jailbait

  

Who lives here?