Winter

This is the arrival day. Winter is here. Well, winter has long been here; this is the calendar day that normally heralds the official arrival of winter. Winter has arrived to be greeted by winter. A vast landscape of lofty white snow covering everything, everywhere. Roof lines are obscured, as are windows where the layers of snow on lower roofs deny the entry of interior light. Trees remain burdened by layers of snow, too frozen to remit their perch.

But while we've continued to experience sub-normal temperatures throughout this less-than nominal winter that preceded winter's calendar arrival, this very day of arrival has dawned benignly mild. No boots for our little dogs today. And when we enter the ravine it is to discover a well tamped trail system, the narrow pathways clearly defined and no longer a misery for their boot-clad paws.

As a result we're able to proceed at something approximating a normal pace. There is a cross-work of trails in evidence; some are animal trails, some are ski trails, and others are snowshoe trails, besides those which we normally amble upon. This time we have other choices. We don't have to cut short our trek because our little dogs are exhausted from their efforts.

Enabling us to venture far further today, something more akin to our usual ravine circuit. We hear a woodpecker somewhere near, as we descend the long hill into the ravine proper. Doing a little slipping and sliding act on the smoothed-down snow pack. But they, their claws unobstructed by boots, can now find purchase and they're jaunty with relief as we proceed.

The milder temperature has freed some of the snow covering the creek and the creek itself runs free, the water clear and quite obviously cold. A flock of cedar waxwings waffle themselves over the tree tops. Chickadees practise their calls, as accepting of the milder temperature as they are of the frigid; those sweet, tough little boreal creatures.

The snow pack that has so stubbornly clung to trees and bushes has begun to relent, encouraged by the ambient warmth, and a succession of snowfalls unleash themselves from the trees upon the trail as we proceed. I've caught a good dose of fallen snow on my head, my shoulders and pay no mind; it's surpassingly lovely.

The wind has come up, and that helps the trees in the release of their snow burden. We hear the long, mournful, prolonged wail of a train whistle in the distance. It's a wonderfully evocative sound, one we don't hear often enough and when we do hear it, we treasure the sound. All the more to hear it through the ravine, tamed by the presence of all that sound-muffling snow. It has taken on a new, eerie, plaintive quality.

The huge willow sitting down in the hollow close by one of the creek's even narrower tributaries is completely clad in a thick layer of snow. As though some giant's mechanical snow-thrower scooped snow off the ground and thundered it down upon the huge tree's trunk and branches. As indeed did happen.