Saturday night I had gone to bed watching heavy white flakes float down from the sky. There was a slight dread in me because normally I hate all things cold and winter-like. Why then do you live in New England? you may ask, to which my reply would be, My father was born here and has an apparent fear of moving...or else he really likes the cold, but if that's the case he could have fooled me.
But Sunday morning came. The sun rose behind our pine trees and came in through my window. I raised my head and was awestruck at what I saw. My backyard was white and perfect, about an inch of snow was on our sycamore tree, and the fur trees looked like they'd been dusted with powder sugar. The sky was a bright, clear ultramarine.
The air was still, cold, and quiet, the silence broken only by a vibrant red cardinal's song somewhere in the trees.
The air was still, cold, and quiet, the silence broken only by a vibrant red cardinal's song somewhere in the trees.
Just this once I didn't have animosity towards the bone-chilling, white condensation. I actually admired it - from inside my semi-warm bedroom under my pleasantly warm down comforter and fuzzy blanket - from here it wasn't so bad ;)
yeah, when i was driving to CLG in the wee hours of the morning i wanted to pull over and take pictures it was so perfect.
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