...and then there were blue skies and glistening sunlight

The morning machines have begun, but not before I got out to the meadow where the foot high snow drifts had settled, and the serenity and solitude of our shush through the pristine snow was sublime.  We went into the park past the barn, and then drifted along the creek past the geese swimming quickly in the water, stopping to admire the crested ice, the glimmering snow and frilly white branches.  Often up to his neck in snow, shadow bound over the mounds and scrabbled through the icy patches.

By 8:20 I had put on my skiis and shushed through the silence of s snowy wissahickon, gliding over the sparkling snow through the night skiers fracks, down to valley green and back without seeing a soul on the way out and encountering only three people on the way back.  I was relived not to have carried my phone camera, pushing myself to find the words in my head to defjnd and describe to nobody but myself the glisten of the snow, the brilliance of the sky, and the ruffle of the trees.  With nobody there, I had to make linguistic photos of the partially snow covered rocks in the creek, each looking like a skeleton, the still of the half Frozen wissahickon and the surge of water rumbling and tumbling down the dam at the red covered bridge.  Long icicles dangled from the valley green inn, but the tracks ended right there, so I headed back home, tightening the night people's tracks that had gotten furry since their inception the night before.  I was grateful for the solace and the solitude, the silence and the sparkle.  My day has been shaped by such splendor.