This morning, after a fresh snowfall.

Another 6 inches of fluffy snow fell, last night, like confectionery sugar dusted onto a pastry or cake. This kind of snow, powdery and seemingly weightless, collects in spectacular patterns of delicate lace. Nature’s way of tossing a doily onto the landscape.

The smaller shrubbery displays the prettiest patterns.

The best time to observe the beauty of freshly fallen snow is first thing in the morning, before the sun has risen high enough in the sky to start melting it. From first dawn until the sun fully breaks passes rather swiftly, so I try to get outside to take a few photos & enjoy the silence caused by the soundproofing snow provides.

The rising sun.

One of the joys of winter are such mornings spent looking for wildlife tracks, catching the glittering light of sun piercing through snowflakes, enjoying magical moments spent in solitude, & appreciating a beauty grander than anything humans could ever create. There’s a reason Lewis began his Chronicles of Narnia in a deep freeze created by magic.

Snowy shed & field.

And so, the snow never gets old to me. There’s something poignant in that icy cold. I think that’s what’s made places like Tolstoy’s St. Petersburg or Wharton’s Gstaad so romantic, with their ice skating & skiing on wintry landscapes. Doctor Zhivago would never be as dramatically beautiful without the Ice Palace.

The morning light glows behind the shed.

Would the ending of Frankenstein have been as powerful set somewhere else? Would Shakleton’s voyage on The Endurance have been as dangerously romantic to those hearing the tale? Would the peaks of Mt. Everest or K2 draw as many climbers to their deaths without that ice and snow?

This morning’s view from the back door.