There's something splendidly charming about a world dusted in snow. Everything seems more calm, slowed down, more fresh. There's a warmth to be found in fresh snow, it insulates you from the bitter cold. In college I would walk across a deserted campus (everyone skipped classes on snowy days) covered in 3 ft of snow: I languished in the simplicity of those walks, everything was beautiful. I now find myself in Hoboken, NJ, & things are quite different from Maine: for the first, they don't quite know how to properly remove snow...but we each have our specialties.
I remember as a child when there was fresh snow on the weekends, we would get all dressed in our snow suits & hats, & we would go for a walk as a family through a nearby forest trail. The road remained un-plowed with only the imprint of our boots to mark our way. Branches would bend inward over the path at the weight of the snow & some would fall like drops of water from overladen branches; the world was silent, save for falling snow & the swiching of our snowsuits. All was white, including the fog of our breath. I truly believed we had transported to a wondrous place....that is the sentiment which comes to me when I behold fresh snow.
