Snow

The drifts came up to my hips in some places, so I didn’t…couldn’t…walk very far. I didn’t need to. The snow had decorated the place well enough that I needn’t do much more than stand and look. From the cedars hung heavy white puffballs that contrasted the deep, ever green like sea foam on blue water. A thick flock of robins were diving in and out of the upper branches, occasionally knocking a puffball to the ground. They tolerated me, their position high enough from my place on the ground, until one decided that I (or something more alarming) was a threat. Following the alert call, the whole tree suddenly darted into a cloud of birds. The rush of their feathers broke a peaceful silence, but only for a second, and before I realized it, the robins had come back, a few at a time, eager to eat any berries that were not covered in snow. It was too bad the world couldn’t stop its busyness long enough to revere the snow-globe scene.

During the blizzard.
During the blizzard.
After the blizzard.
After the blizzard.

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