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

Note bene : Une initiative du cœur et non commerciale, sauf où bien indiqué, le contenu en français n’est pas révisé. Merci de votre compréhension. Je vous invite à me signaler des erreurs.