This isn’t exactly photography-oriented so please forgive me in advance.
This afternoon I made my usual trek to the small wood near my home so that I could feed the cats at the feral colony. My task is usually quite easy to accomplish, but the heavy and wet snow we had over the weekend has made this usually simple task far more difficult. Yet… it’s also made it far more marvelous.
Growing up in Florida I never saw scenes such as this:
And even though I have now lived in more northern climes for some years I have never experienced such a snow while living so close to woods. And my experience in them is quite strange to this man raised on sea, sand and surf.
The wet and heavy snow of the weekend has bent tree and branch towards the ground in the most inconceivable manner. The trails I usually would follow were missing from view and some feeding stations completely hidden between the snow and the bent-over vegetation. But my fascination with this other-worldly situation turned to quiet wonder and passion today.
Today I was less worried about finding all the cats and their bowls and instead became focused upon the incredible silence that I had not previously noticed.
The snow covered trees acted upon my voice like a shroud, deadening my voice and keeping my words so close to me as to be almost frightening. The voice that normally carried through the wood when calling the ferals to lunch now just died. Right there. Next to me.
And in this incredible hush I could only hear the occasional sound of snow falling from higher limbs as today’s sun reached out with it’s long rays and brought some warmth to the higher up branches.
Just my breathing. Just the snow falling. Just quiet. Just nature. It was incredibly humbling.