Sunday Morning Snow

It was a perfect snow this weekend - late enough Saturday night that it did not affect going out dancing, yet leaving a blanket of white over everything for my Sunday morning walk.

One of the great blessing of Colorado are these springtime snowfalls. The snowflakes are so moist they stick to everything, so that the entire landscape is virgin white, from the ground on up to the tops of the tallest trees.

I think what I love as much as the landscape turned to white is the smell of the air after spring snow - crisp and clean. Its awful hard to describe. You have to be out there walking to get it.

The snow revealed all the nuances of the canine decisions of the foxes - step through these willows, check this meadow for mice. The same is true for their scent, which is no longer masked by the smell of grasses, soil, or diffused by wind, but is sharpened by the contrast of the snow. I can tell how my dogs act when they come upon a particularly fresh fox trail. I mention the word 'fox' as they investigate it, so we have can communicate about what came through here. I use the word when I see a fox running off that they have missed, because their heads are in the snow: "see the fox:", "there goes a fox". The dogs look up, sometimes just in time to get a glimpse of the white tip of the foxes' red tail just before it disappears into the willows or cattails.

As I crossed the bridge over the creek at the base of the north hill, I heard the chattering of some chickadees. Then I spotted one of the little birds flying into a patch of cattails. I watched as it stripped seeds from the cattails - its grey body, and black head, pulling from the rust-colored head that had a clump of snow still resting on its top, with the forest of woodland trees in white in the background.

It all made me happy, as in a homecoming type of happiness, from seeing this strong-spirited little bird again down there in the place we all regard as home - we being the chickadees, foxes, deer, racoons, ben, maggie, and me.