The girls and I headed up Woodman Road onto an unplowed expanse of white. The air was full of snow gently falling from the sky. There was no sound except the tinkle of the girl's collars and the swish of my boots in the snow. I stopped for a moment to take in the silence and was rewarded with the sigh of a breeze through the already bowing pines. The sigh increased to a whisper and soon the nearby branches of the pines unburdened themselves of their loads and the air was briefly full of swirling snow mixed with the still gently falling flakes from the sky.

Up the road we traveled. We came to the glade where, just the day before, I sat to watch the water of Talking Brook meander from the culverts to the rocky-strewn bed on its way to meet up with Meadow Brook further into the woods. Now the bench had a cushion of four inches of snow and the stream was muted by banks that were gracefully folded over with the gift of the first snow. The girls did not jump into the icy water to drink as they had the day before. They were too busy playing in the steadily accumulating blanket of white.

We climbed up the road; rising to the entrance to the Hunter's Cabin Trail and left the open sky of the road. With the sheltering canopy of the trees, the snow was not so deep here. I have walked this trail countless times and every time it is a new experience. Today the difference was profound. The contours of the land were no longer sharp and distinct. Now Mother Earth was all sensuous curves. The very sound of walking was different too. Gone was the crisp rustle of leaves as my boots carried me along. My footfalls had a hushed softness to them. The path itself too was different. Overhanging branches, I would not have noticed just the day before, were bending low with the gift of the new snow.

We climbed up to the top of Quarry Hill. We frequently go there to watch the woodland sunset that this knob offers. In summer the granite top of this highest point at Norumbega is covered in muted greens and blues of the lichens that cover the rock. Now, the lichens had been put to bed by Creator. In the middle of the day when the sky is clear, we take in the blue dome that is the ceiling to all who live for the world outside of walls. Today, the sky was a white void. I lay down and made a snow angel, reveling in this simple connection to my youth. Angel wings and fluttering feet complete, I stared up at the white void. It was laced at the edges by the bare branches of the nearby trees. I thought about my place in that void and marveled at the blessing of being right where I was meant to be at that very moment in time.

I got up when Lillie came over to lick my face. It was her way of telling me that it was time to move. We made our way down the trail to Butt Rock. I quite often pause here for a sit, as this beautiful boulder is just the right height and contour for a stone bench. This day it was so beautiful with its new mantle of white that I could not bring myself to mar its perfect surface just to rest for a bit. We continued along down to the banks of Talking Brook to what in the warm months is the girls' favorite swimming hole.

Now covered in slush and no open water, they passed it right by. Up and over the outlook at Swallow's Cliffs, we dropped down to the edge of the brook once again. I had recently seen an eight-inch trout here, flashing by me on a sunny day when that brook was open. I wondered how she was fairing and wished her well for the coming winter.

Passing Mom and Dad's Chapel, I said a silent hello and crossed the little bridge built by nephew Ben and soon was at the field where our yurt stands guard over what we still call the tipi field in honor of the former lodges that once stood here. Our walk was at an end and I was filled with the magic of the first snow. milajuno@aol.com