Morning walk in the snow

Reflected light made the predawn bright.

I pointed and clicked.

Who knew what pictures I would get?

 

The cold had finally sapped the battery when I had gotten to the levee trail, but no matter. Just to be in a place, so familiar and so magically changed on such a morning, was more than enough. 

I walked through the wet snow and then down the side of the levee to the river. I took my gloves off to feel the bark of an old cottonwood tree. I tasted a few mouthfuls of the fresh snow.

And then I simply stood for a long time at the river's edge - listening, watching. Except for the flowing water and an occasional hushed train whistle, the world around me was silent. There were seagulls circling. Clouds of small birds I did not recognize swirled over and beyond the snow-lined branches of the trees behind me. And a bald eagle, flying towards me from downriver, paused on a branch high over my head for a few minutes.

And now these words, too, only begin to capture my experience. And so finally, after some time, unmeasured, I turned back to a world of snowplows and cars driving to and fro.

On my way home, I stopped at Aimee's for a hot chocolate and whipped cream in my mustache - and to recharge my camera. And then, by daylight, there were so many more photos still to take in South Park - most of them I would leave on my hard drive. 

At some point, I simply had to leave my wonder at the astonishing black and white world behind me and go home.

One benefit of taking pictures and writing words is the heightened awareness these acts give me that the world simply cannot be captured. Being in the world is the thing. This walk to the river and back was indeed extraordinary. But again and again, the natural world surprises me with unexpected beauty.

I encourage you to walk with your senses open. Take a camera if you wish. Or not. Get to know a place and just be there now and then.