April Snow

I awoke this morning at 1:38am. I eventually knew that was the time when I read the clock face on my cell phone. However, the power had - at some point - gone out and come back on again. Curious. However, I didn't complain as I got up from bed, and went to get some water before going back to sleep. I awoke again at around 6:15am. No alarm; just waking up naturally. There was weak light coming through the window, and - having listened to the prognostications of the previous day - knew that, indeed, snow had fallen around the cabin. Glancing out at the still-grey morning, it was difficult to tell exactly how much snow had piled up during the night, let alone the quality. However, I did notice the degree to which the boughs of the pine dipped close to the patio door.

I debated quickly as to whether I needed to make a trip out to the privvy, and realized - as one often finds oneself doing when faced with similar situations - that such a trip was not really necessary (what with it necessitating getting dressed, putting on boots, and making a somewhat cold round trip through snow). Therefore, I booted up my computer to check the online weather forecast. As I dressed, I toyed with the idea of making coffee, but after doing a brief self-analysis, decided that - while I really did like the economy of making my own thermos of coffee to bring in - it was unnecessary, since I would neither drink the remainder of it at the house, nor desired to carry more weight than necessary. Following that decision, and after packing my camera and stretching my YaxTrax over bootsoles, I headed out of the cabin.

As always, I first looked out over Third Sister Lake. There lay an untouched blanket of snow in the foreground, and a snow-dusted forest lying on the north shore; a perfect camera shot (which would likely have been better if I possessed a perfect camera). Turning back toward the house, I appreciated for the first time the lines of the pines surrounding the house: the branches, demarkated by the snow, standing in sharp contrast from the dark verdency of the needles. Again, if I wished I had a more superior camera than what I owned as I took that second shot.

Walking up to the commercial lots on the southeast corner of the forest, I continued to see many quiet wonders of an early spring snowfall: trees bent over the pathway, water pooled in the ephemeral creek's bed, and wind playing through the skeletal treetops. Upon reaching the commercial lot, I stopped to take one more photo, facing east through the bent branches to a sodium light mounted on the side of the low-slung concrete building; its light reflected off the plowed-and-glistening asphalt, like an industrial-park sunrise.

Then I walked the four miles in to town.