Our Wondrous Winter Ravine
The ravine looks just as exquisitely ravishing today as it did yesterday, in the wake of the previous day's winter snowstorm which left absolutely everything lavishly carpeted in a thick layer of snow. So often after a heavy snowfall there is a brief window available to view the aftermath in the forest, when the trees are laden with their soft white blanket and our breath is taken away in wonder at the utter perfection of the sight. Ah, but this snowfall was somewhat different, in that the snow fell during a relatively mild temperature in thick clusters which, when they hit the ground, were suffused with water. These were not the usual light crystals which themselves give us such pleasure, brief through the aftermath of their beauty is, but water-logged tufts of snowbundles. The snow clung immediately to their targeted hosts, and remains there yet. Only slowly will this thick blanket permit the odd wayward wintry wind to haul down reluctant drifts. Only gradually will the winter sun gaining in warmth as it draws inevitably toward the spring equinox begin to melt this tender but tough snow covering. A discerning eye, striding through the ravine, looking toward the sun can make out ice crystals clinging to weary tree branches where the snow has been convinced to leave its perch for the present.
This day when we enter the ravine ducking and weaving our way through the heavy-laden pine boughs brought sweeping to the ground reminds us yet again that this wintry phenomenon is so ephemeral that we are indeed fortunate to view it once more before it disappears. Our senses absorb the spectacle of branches covered so thickly in this white mantle that it is as though some artist run amok has outdone himself in his frenzy to create perfection. Conifers and deciduous, bushes and wayward twigs, towering giants and tender saplings alike are burdened, the former sporting snow-weary branches hanging as low as their height will permit, the latter forcing slight trunks to a graceful bow.
Walking the trails we're amazed to see stout trees normally accustomed to bearing multitudes of ripe fall fruits with easy grace, brought low by the heft of this white, white coverlet. We must, perforce, walk now through bowers, our own heads hung low to avert their clustered appeal. This day too the ambience is muffled, still, quiet. But still we can hear the soft swish-swish of our boots compacting the snow underfoot. And from a near perch on high we hear the shrill impertinent cry of a Pileated woodpecker looping off the stillness above.
Even the water coursing through the creek winding its way below is hushed, its banks pillowed by huge white puffs of snow. This latest snowfall has brought perilously low a number of trees whose already-tenuous hold on the banks edging the creek have been urged further downhill, their hapless trunks now laterally engaged across the creek. And we wonder will they ever recover or are they destined ultimately to cross to the opposite bank and there moulder in another season.
posted by Pieface @ Monday, January 23, 2006
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