Snow flakes, large and fluffy fall slowly and gently onto the forest floor. It is so thick the trees touch the ground and the sky is scarcely visible.

Stumps and fallen trees are piled high with clumps and ribbons as wide and deep as billowing white caps on the ocean’s rolling breakers.

The gentleness of the flakes against our cheeks feel as soft and thrilling as the kiss of love.

We sense the smell of early spring violets as delicate flakes find their way into our nostrils. We sigh. Our mouth opens to taste the sweet crystals as they touch and quickly melt on our warm tongue.

The sound of falling snow is most captivating at this moment; it is a faint, gentle rustling, so soft as to be at the very edge of our hearing. Its sweetness syncopates with that of the occasional strum of wind through the strings of evergreen needles.

Over the woodland floors, the thick white snow blanket lays draped in silent splendor in a scene of crests and troughs, mounds, rolls, humps, miniature valleys, small deep clefts and crevices. Clumps of snow cling to the naked tree trunk and branches seem to drape the woodlands with a pure, freshly crocheted coverlet.

The sky clears to a bright sunny blue and the woodlands are gradually undraped for the opening of one grand performance.

It is very good to be a part of this magic, in tune with the infinite flow of life if only for a little while.