Winter Walk
Yesterday the first big snow storm of the season blew into Eastern Ontario. The city received about 24 c. of snow, and I guess we had another several where we're located. That's a lot of snow, enough to cause complete chaos on the roads as road crews tried to cope with the ongoing snowfall, while clearing away that which had fallen overnight, a mixture of snow and pellets. The night sky, when we looked out during the night, was a glory of pink, with white gently drifting through the sky to settle sweetly on the roofs and the ground below. In past years, while we were still both working, we would often go out for our walks in the ravine in the evening; sometimes before, sometimes after dinner. That same pink glow suffused the entire ravine, lighting up the arras surrounding us and giving us complete visual perspective, so we could see exactly where we were treading through the many trails.
Whereas walking on the street in the evening was dark, and you could see with the help of the overhead street lights, once you dipped down into the ravine and the forested trails were laid out before you, the glowing pink light resembled a magic world only imagined, somehow come to life. This pink aura could be seen illuminating the ravine, the trails, the trees any evening when the skies were overcast, or when it was snowing, creating of the experience a thing of exquisite beauty. On brightly moonlit nights there would be light to be sure, but the colour was absent, the light dim, and perspective almost absent. A joy to behold, but only during the winter months, a special time of year in the ravine.
But today, following yesterday's snowstorm we set off for the ravine. Today was mild, the high temperature getting up to minus 2 c. Which meant coats for our two little dogs, but no boots, a nice break for them, although they haven't been complaining when they've had to wear them lately in the minus 10, 12 and 14 degree highs we've been experiencing throughout the earlier part of the week.
The snow was soft and high, stark white and beautiful. We could have used snowshoes, since conditions were perfect for them, but we tend not to, when we've got the little dogs with us. Consequently, because the snow was so high on the trails, not yet tamped down as will eventually happen, walking through it is difficult, the end result being as though one has gone three times the normal distance by the time the hike is over with. And the soft, new snow clings to the hair on our little dogs' legs, becoming small round white ornaments on their black or apricot-coloured hair. They're happy to be out, however, and run expectantly, joyfully ahead on the trail, even where they have to plow through the height of snow.
Another dog, somewhat larger than ours suddenly appears, clambering up the same hill we're climbing, and makes directly for our two dogs, sniffing and snuffling. His name is Scooter, and he's a nice little fellow with whom our belligerent toy Poodle has long ago made peace, so the three dogs meet with great conviviality. Scooter has obviously scooted far ahead of his human companion.
We see no birds at all this day, which does happen on occasion, but not too often. Another hiker climbs another hill which we're descending, his long-haired, sociable dog slightly ahead of him. I scoop up our snarling Riley, and we stop to speak briefly with this hitherto unknown ravine hiker, while his dog leaps happily around Button, a more reasonably socialized female who scorns the strange dog, but does not threaten it as her companion so eagerly does, as that is not her way.
The evergreen trees we pass are limned with the soft new snow, and we regret not having thought to bring along our camera. But then, we console ourselves, there's always tomorrow. The snow will still look fresh, still burden the trees, and we will take advantage of that opportunity. On our weary climb back up the last of the hills, my husband sees a black wiry jumble on the trail and stoops to observe it closer, then picks it up gently and cradles it in the ungloved palm of his hand. It's a spider, somehow knocked loose from its safe winter haven, he says; cold, but perhaps still alive. And alive it is, as the warmth soon gives it strength. My husband continues to carry the spider - quite a good size it is - until he finds what he thinks is a promising place offering shelter, where he can leave it. He clears away a small hollow under an old tree trunk and deposits the now-active spider in it and moves a portion of the loose trunk over the hollow.
Can it be any wonder why I love this man so very much?
posted by Pieface @ Saturday, December 17, 2005
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