“Snowshoes on, we walk over hard pack till we feel the blanket thicken and soften, as we wade, through the cold surf, where nature laps against the open space, our feet sinking, till we walk on water”
The car stopped, engine off, we climb from heated leather seats into the cool mountain air. A sense of peace, and the anticipation of adventure, are held softly by the white silence.
Snow crunches underfoot as we prepare, toque and gloves warm. Scanning the edges of the flat man made island in a sea of trees dressed in winters coat, like icing sugar, light on the pastry we enjoyed for breakfast, but much sweeter.
Snowshoes on, we walk over hard pack till we feel the blanket thicken and soften, as we wade, through the cold surf, where nature laps against the open space, our feet sinking, till we walk on water. This place, this place, holds my heart gently, brushing up against the sides of my soul and for a moment, blend. This place, this nature, this one, seem to step away and have a conversation like dear friends with too much time between them.
A walk through white woods never travelled, but deeply familiar, of belonging, of knowing, seeing a small glimpse into the mystery, but somehow, without effort, deeply understood.
Sugar Maker 