Dust of Snow

After weeks of bitter cold, then weeks of soggy raw, the snow fell over the weekend. Sunday morning, a pristine blanket of white over gritty brown, transformed the landscape. I headed out to visit my island, an islet really, snugged up against the northern shore of Montreal where, despite the ever-present hum of distant traffic, I can always find tranquility, soul-healing quiet and peace.


Walkers were rare. Only the occasional shusssh of skis broke the silence. Shy cardinal couples flitted silently from tree to tree, the females muted rust, the males bright as flame. A woodpecker raised a ruckus as it wound around the trunk of a tree in search of food beneath the bark.

Dust of Snow                      
The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.
--Robert Frost


6 comments:

  1. I was driving back home Saturday night during the worse of the snowfall, and I was not loving it not one bit. But then you write about the white cover and silence that inevitably come after the fall. And about the cardinals and the woodpeckers. We feed the birds at home, and we have among them Mr. and Ms. Cardinals and lots of woodpeckers, small and large. And you just made me remember how peaceful it was Sunday morning, watching our winged friends waltzing in and around the feeders. But then life went on, and we quickly forgot the feeling of this peaceful Sunday morning. You'd write about a fridge and you'd make me open mine in awe...

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    Replies
    1. Thank you, Sylvie! I'm glad the post made you see things differently. Maybe I'll write about your fridge sometime. :) P.S. I envy you your bird-feeders and winged visitors.

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  2. Sounds like a piece of paradise.

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  3. It is, Judith, and I am thankful for it every time I visit.

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