Walking Home

The ice storm yesterday could have been a lot worse, though any ice storm is too many for me. It was the crunchy kind of ice storm, so Baby Dog didn’t get to do any butt sledding.

I left work early, fought my way home through worsening snow and traffic and finally reached the parking lots of Ski Roundtop, where I left the truck. That left me with a walk of some 200 yards up the mountain to reach the cabin.

I don’t mind the walk as it gives me a few minutes to decompress after the tension of a drive home in poor weather surrounded by far too many bad drivers. The walk is wonderfully quiet and peaceful. No one else is around, no other cars are around.

The sound of snow falling mutes any other sounds except those of my own foot falls. I’m not sure I ever realized falling snow had a sound until I moved to a place that was quiet enough for me to hear it. It’s a soft sound, one that is magnified by the sheer numbers of snowflakes falling in the woods around me.

The only thing I see are the few winter bird residents, and even they seem calmer and less likely to flush when I walk past than during clear weather. The walk is another reminder of why I’m blessed to live in the woods, surrounded by nature’s sounds. The walk helps to slow me down, to take me away from the thoughts and hurried plans of daily life. By the time I reach the steps of the cabin, I’m relaxed and almost sorry to go inside.