A fast, wet, sloppy snow came through late yesterday afternoon. An inch or so was predicted, but skidding along the highway with my young nephew beside me, I had no idea it was all going to happen over about thirty minutes.
By morning, the roads were cleared, the winds were still, and the parks transformed.
I was a little nervous, standing in the crunchy chunks of scrapped ice in the parking lot. I’d been to this park a few times for summer picnics, but not enough to be very familiar with it. I was pretty sure there was a path around the fishing ponds, but it wasn’t at all obvious where it was.
A radio program, as I climbed out of the truck, had been discussing the health benefits of ice baths. I had no interest in giving it a try right now!
I crept carefully down the hill, the ground was already growing soft and mushy beneath the snow. Firm and paved, the pathway was simple enough to find once I was there.
Two pairs of prints went before me, one human, one meandering canine, circling the pond and drifting to the edge of the woods.
A splash of water pours into the spillway. Birds call, a siren wails, and a snow shovel scrapes on a nearby driveway. The world awakens to meet the day.
Rambling ... 