After a frustrating week of missed goals coupled with a frenzy of anxious chatter from everyone worrying about the pending, snowy doom, I was desperate to escape to the woods today, even if just for a few minutes. Where society fretted about what a blizzard would do its precious routine, the outside place stood quietly ready to adapt. Maybe the squirrels and birds would stockpile and shelter in place, but there will be no salting, plowing, shoveling, or removal. The flakes will gather and blanket the highest surfaces. The snow will blow and accumulate and drift. If enough falls and the temperatures remain cold, the forest floor will be buried for days, weeks, maybe even a few months. Knowing this, I surveyed the ground. I took in all that was about to disappear from sight and felt giddy with the possibilities of this ever-changing scene.