Alone in the cold, quiet, snow-filled mountain woods we are drawn to a grove of evergreen trees and disappear from all sight into the dense cover. Our tracks are the only sign of human presence that disturbs the clean, white carpet. Standing quietly among the rows of Hemlock trees we quickly become entranced by the vision and embraced by a sweet solitude.
Above, snow-capped boughs drape across the roof of this
fantastic fairyland. On every side a green tapestry hangs suspended from sky to ground. We
feel enclosed in snug-warmth, hugged by a special kind of living, loving comfort.
The trees, stand in straight and silent majesty forming columns between the sky-roof and the ground-floor.
The carpet is the white fluff of an eight inch wall-to-wall blanket of snow. Its pattern is made of sprigs from last year's grasses and weeds. Tufts and plumes of a wide variety are interspersed with tracks of last night's squirrel and deer.
Chandeliers hang in a myriad of sizes and shapes, variably colored in evergreen and snow-white. Twig shadows lace-work and quilt-patch the sun that glistens off the sparkling background.
The windows are sky lights framed in green fringes and trimmed in whipped cream white.
It is so quiet we can hear the snow-flaked brush against each other as they fall.
Every now and then a sweet melody is played as a whispering wind pipes through the hemlock needles.
It is like living inside a beautiful outdoor cathedral. The sweet essence of all life, everything good and beautiful, are all around and within us. We reach out and touch the falling snowflakes that nudge softly against our faces melting into our deepest heart.
Copyright © 1988-2000 Barbara A. Smith and John G. Hipps. All rights reserved.
This essay was first published January 18, 1988 in the Free-Press Courier, Westfield, Pennsylvania.