I started out for the newspaper and ended up at the beaver brook.
There are the lovely end-of-winter days, the sap-running days of cold nights and milder days. The snow is layered over the ground now, thawed and frozen so many times, it is now hard and crunchy, ideal for walking on.
Rural concrete. My sidewalk through the fields and woods.
I'm not sure how we, the dogs and I, ended up at the beaver brook. Something early on must have been luring me because when I got out of bed, I got dressed instead of staying in my pajamas for the morning. I put a coat on instead of relying only on my hoodie sweater; after all, I was only going out for the newspaper.
Yet when the dogs headed left towards the lane instead of right towards the newspaper box, I followed them. The wind was sharp so I pulled up the hoodie. I had gloves in my pockets so I pulled them on. I was wearing boots.
The dogs are always lighter across the snow than I am so they took off, noses to the ground, ears in the air, keen for a rare morning walk (I miss those; see how I write when I've started my day out with a walk?). In the snow piled up in the lane were deep footprints frozen into the surface like ancient artifacts of past attempts at walking. I stepped onto the wedge of snow and discovered it would hold me. A few tentative steps...and the next thing I knew, I was striding along on top of the snow, cheeks stinging from the wind, fingers sore from the cold, wishing I was wearing my snow pants but watching the dogs gallop ahead while I observed the deer and fox tracks criss-crossing the lane. I'm not the only one grateful for the concrete snow.
All was quiet at the beaver brook. Frozen over. We could have kept walking but I wasn't wearing the right socks for a long trek! Tomorrow. We have that to look forward to tomorrow. But first, enjoy this moment.
Thirty minutes of spontaneous bliss as the sun rose over the river.