Wilds of Winter

The wilds of winter are quickly taking grasp of our little “ Vacation-land” here in Maine. Vicious trios of bitter winds, cloudy grey skies, and spitting snow showers have arrived. Vitamin-D deficiency begins now. Admittedly, my mind isn't centered on negativity of scraping frost-covered windshields and shoveling feet of fluffy snow from behind the car. I look forward to the comfort of layering wool sweaters and checkered flannel shirts. Like a blanket to a baby, there is something soothing about cozying up in winter layers and slippers that you just don’t find in a summer t-shirt. It’s a haven.

From the contentment of my easy chair, I gaze out the window this morning and watch the blowing snow in the front yard. The grasses of a July ever-so-distant have now faded and a layer of white stuff builds. Tall pines, along the field line, shift ever so slightly in the wind. The irregular swaying of branches and treetops is endless. After moments of watching, the forest falls into what seems like a choreographed dance.

Snow kicks up below the lower-most layers of limbs and swirls upward until disappearing from sight. This vision inhibits a true sense of cold, realized only, when in boots, I step outside to explore. Winter means laziness to some degree. Our two dogs enjoy lying on the over-sized bay in front of the large picture window in the living room and gazing outward. They stare, entranced on the motion winter brings with it. December brings beauty and snow adds character. I think the reason winter seems so attractive is because fall has a way of stealing the colors of summer that we so enjoy. Vibrant leaves of summer and early autumn have fallen to the ground leaving desolate brown branches. The landscape is encompassed in earth-tones. Our eyes, which have grown at this point in the year, so used to the featureless setting are fully awakened by the first snowfall. Winter saves us.

Today the temperatures hover for the first time in three days above thirty degrees, but a wind from the Northeast sends chills deep into the woods. Maine’s abundant spruce trees grasp to the richness of the first snow.  Each limb slowly layers in white powder; the dark green needles are apparently attempting to hide themselves. Hay fields of fall are now buried. A few occasional straws spring from the depths of winter, brave and unwilling to bend at the weight of the snow. I can appreciate such character. These are the fields I see from behind the frosted glass. For now, I take another sip from a mug of steaming coffee – thankful to be inside.

(Photo above was taken during the first big snow storm of 2011 in Northern Maine)