Winter at home

The snow falling in this area is rare and brings many exciting experiences. The street light in front of the yard casts a faint white-orange glow across the yard, the many trees and bushes giving cause to believe fantasy creatures reside close by. The crystalline reflections in the subdued light appear as if the Snow Queen herself flew overhead and cast thousands upon thousands of diamonds around the yard. The nearly imperceptible reflections dance and taunt the imagination. Any movement of the head, darting of the optics or steps forward bring new visions to dazzle and bring quiet joy to the soul.

All the details of the world are hidden beneath the cloak of soft fluffy white.
A walk through the neighborhood reveals other wonders: hedges with colored and white lights covered by snow. These provide a surreal fairy-like adornment to the yards. The lights, under two or four inches of snow, radiate soft glows from beneath. As if the shelters of elves or gnomes have at last been revealed.

The wire-frame Santa's and reindeer sparkle under their shroud of downy white, looking very much like the snow sculptures they're supposed to represent.

The evening sky glows with the city lights. A fusing of illumination with no central origin. The world is alive with quiet energy. In the distance, the rumble of snow-plows echos. It's easy to picture a municipal worker, huddled in his truck, heater on full force, enjoying the overtime but wishing to be home with family. With the many hours on the road, do they realize how much the citizens of their cities appreciate the work?
The plow rolls past our house, a huge metallic beast intent on its task, oblivious to the denizens residing under the white-topped roofs. Rudely shoving snow off the roadways, leaving a spattering of coarse sand in its wake.

The morning brings a happy light through all windows. Even those with closed curtains. I awake thinking of friends and family in warmer climes.
After making a cup of heated warmth, I gaze out every window, imprinting the visuals into my memory. In three weeks I move to California. It's doubtful that I'll wake to a winter like this down there in the years to come.
Suspended from the eve of my home, in front of the living room window are two bird feeders. One cylindrical and the other a flat bronze plate held by three equally spaced thin chains. The cylinder gets the sparrows, juncos and finches. The plate receives the attention of the jays, who in their search for the favored seeds, cast to the ground-searching fowl treats a plenty.
During most of the year, the bird feeders are sporadically kept filled. Usually the local avians forage and from their girth, are well adept. In this unusual weather, with the ground slumbering under a foot of frozen white, I help them out a bit and keep the feeders stocked.
In trade, I receive a cacophony of songs and chitters which makes for an even exchange.

With the fireplace insert crackling and radiating perfect warmth, the house is quiet and secure. Hot chocolate greets those who wake later with the promise of winter vacation adventures. Tucker, the Border Collie in residence, deems this weather perfect for his thick coat and frolicking nature. When released into the back yard for his morning constitutional, the search through our huge rhododendums, butterfly bushes, ferns and many trees brings a delight in new scents, virgin trails and the ability to leap and run like his wolfen ancestors through the wilds.
He returns smiling. Yes, Tucker smiles. His tail held high like a knight's standard and his fur covered in ice and snow. Seldom is seen a happier dog.
We're going out into this land of subdued sounds and chill, to enjoy the rare experience of a white Christmas.
The day evolves forth.
I look forward to the adventures.