Is it the lightness of the snow under my feet, the spray of white that I kick up with every step? Is it the crunchy feeling when I hit the ice underneath? The muffled wind that I hear through my hood, or the surprise of birds chirping in this white landscape?
Is it the fleece inside these knee high boots, or the multi-layer long underwear that keeps most of me draft free? Maybe it is the solitude of walking in the Arboretum when the temperature is 16.
It might be my dog (Winnie), so happy to be romping free in the snow, her black fur against the white field, sniffing and exploring, then racing back to me at top speed, happy to be outside again after 2 days of bad weather. It might be the feeling of strolling along after scurrying from car to house and staying inside because of the winter weather.
It might be the expansiveness of walking along the path by the trees, away from traffic and houses, not having to watch for cars, feasting on the beauty of bare trees against snow.
I hear the train whistle now, first to my left, then the wheels rolling down the track, then the whistle again to my right. It might be looking through the trees at the row of houses from the outside. Or the friendliness shared when I encounter the occasional fellow enthusiast of winter’s beauty.
It might be the way my mind can wander to touch on this concern or that, a quiet conversation unraveling within as I walk along.
It might be the thought of my friends reading these words, the hope that they will pause and feel the beauty of this moment too. It might be the thought of my friends, near and far. It might be the thought of us all, journeying.