There is something ethereal about a fresh fallen snow, and it’s made even more magical if you can walk in it while it is still happening. Being the first to plow though white powder leaving your footprints behind you, watching them fade away as the snow falls around your feet, it’s a perfect pleasure. The dogs with their four legs are so much faster then I am in my clumping snow boots, and they delicately dance like ballerinas through the icy roads, while I slip, and barely manage to maintain my balance. Its harder for me to find fresh white icing sugar snow to leave my unblemished prints in when they dance around me like snowflakes. So sometimes to thwart them I will unexpectedly change direction on our walks, and for a few seconds there is nothing ahead of me but a unsmeared blanket of white.
They catch on pretty quick, and arrive only to overtake me in the direction that I am going. A rather quizzical look passes between them, “she’s up to her old tricks, what’s with that.”
Its easier to walk with the Boo. He likes to take shelter from the wide open spaces, and he makes a beeline for the nearest tree. His footwork, and delicate shaking paws makes a ballerina look gangly.
When it snows here it is even quieter here, muffled birds call from overhead, as they flap their wings. There are no sounds of traffic, of airplanes, of any other life. Its easy to believe that with the unbroken snow on the path, I am the only one living here. Just me, and the perfect pleasure of fresh fallen snow.