I caught a picture of the very first flakes, of the very first snowstorm of the new year for you, it was so pretty! And as the snow fell and covered everything with a perfect blanket of white it got even prettier.
Later, sitting near the window, watching it get darker until only the headlights of passing cars,and the outdoor lighting illuminated the falling snow, my thoughts rambled across the hills, along the old railroad grades where I used to look through the leaf litter for insulators, and anything else I could find, savoring every detail of those spring days.
Growing gradually quieter as the traffic had subsided and the snow muffled the sound of everything but the snow plow, and still I watched for the snow flitting down. Snowflakes don't make a sound until they slide off the tree limb with a muffled thud and a cloud of sparkle.
Summer was so far in the past and just as far in the future.
But I was thinking about it, dreaming about it anyway. Dreaming it into being, as if I could really dream something into being, like the ancient Beings of the Aboriginal Dreamtime had. It has been a a while since I sat still for this long, sat still, and alone with my thoughts, awake and dreaming.
