the solemnity of winter

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deep breaths hurt your lungs, make you cough, make you shiver. the chilled air pulls heat from your body like steel on a summer day. o, to bask in that sun, to rejuvenate your fingers; a dream whose comfort fleets at the awakening to this cold that surrounds you. the white landscape, white sky, seem to absorb all sounds save that of silence, that eerie noise of a distant wind. the crunching of snow beneath your feet fades quickly, without echo like everything else in this hollow space. trees are decorated with frosting, but otherwise empty: no birds offer up their songs to the world, no squirrels play games of tag, no hawks scout for prey. the bitter cold drives all life away. broad-leaves mark the floor below the white crystals you see, needles still clinging to trees are frozen together, most hidden under mounds of snow that cause the heavy branches to droop, bend, crack from the weight. occasionally, the motionless environment alters as an evergreen bough finally succumbs to the pressure it holds, white clumps plunging to the sea of powder several feet down, disappearing into the surface without a splash, a perfect dive. the bare spot offers a slight color change, though not so lively a green as you would hope. the clouds are to blame, sheltering this world from the strength of the sun. you look up to that glowing patch of sky covering your friend, hoping that it would make an appearance and thaw you from your desolate surroundings. as if your plea had been heard, grey shapes begin to form along the ground as intense light from that bright orb penetrates a thin spot in the dismal atmosphere, effectively turning up the contrast of the world around you. bluish shadows attract your sight as blinding snow deters it. the white of the trees and ground and sky illuminate as a gas lamp, reflecting the power of the sun and planting a seed of regret in your mind. you lift your head to the source of light, your friend as it were, and close your eyes, hoping in your heart for a warm breath to kiss your skin. but you receive none, the cold dissipating any heat it would have provided. the nourishment you sought from the sun instead feeds your regret, and you wish that it would go back into hiding. though it is not so quick to obey this time, and you saunter on in search for change of scenery. you walk along down a shadowed path cast by the snow-laden trees as though you were avoiding the gaze of a friend who had let you down. the trees are your good company now, offering optical rest from the result of a misguided prayer. remnants of snowflakes rain down around you, glitter seen only as they pass through the rays of the sun, suspended dust particles portraying rainbows as they follow individual courses downward. you look about in hopes to find the origin of these delights, but the dark shadows around you block their travels from sight. as you continue on, the canopy rises, trees become tall and narrow, thin and vertical, holding less snow and letting in more light. the terrain bumps and dips but the white fluff visually smooths it, hiding roots that creep above the ground. walking grows difficult; foot placement is important, but it is impossible to read the forest floor beneath the bright snow. you assume it would be easier to navigate farther from tree trunks, but with increased height their proximity is crowded. there is an occasional open area, where a fallen tree had presumably taken out others in its demise, but these spots are particularly sunny, and you have not yet forgiven your old friend. in remembering that disappointment, you mis-step, your foot slides, you fall back and hit the frozen ground; and now you curse the trees for tripping you, for disrupting the lay of the land, for allowing your feet to stumble. now the snow offers you comfort, though it is partially to blame for your slip; it seems to apologize as your body conforms to it, relaxes upon it, melts into it. you sit in perfect quiet: close to the ground there is no air flow, even the sound of silence is muffled by the powder around you. the sun still glares intensely overhead. you shun your sight from it, squinting as you peruse the horizon. the hilly features of the forest floor can be seen much better from this angle. a fallen bit of snow draws your eye, but when you turn your head, something else intrigues you. sparkling lights, like tiny camera flashes, gleam in your direction. you climb to your feet and brush yourself clean, your eyes fixed on this lively part of the landscape. as you regain balance and start forward, your ears catch the faint sound of trickling water; it gives you a sweet sense of joy, it quickens your pace and makes you risk tripping just to reach it. the span of the stream grows as you near, its playful music a delightful change from silence. the clear flow provides a contrast to the white crystals along its banks, as it opens windows to the dark, wet rocks that form its bed. it bumps and dips like tiny rapids, traversing smoothly over the rounded pebbles and in and out of the depths and shallows, the bubbling sounds warming your heart. its uneven surface also reflects the brightness of the sky, though toned down as it absorbs some of the light. numerous suns shimmer up at you, marking your face with everchanging designs of light. as you watch them dance around you they start to fade, your old friend bidding farewell as a cloud moves in to hide it. you kick a chunk of snow into the brook, small flakes falling off and disappearing quickly, the larger mass soaking in water, melding hues, breaking down and flattening out as the flow carries it away. you follow it with your eyes, exploring farther along the babbling creek, until a touch of green catches your attention. perplexed, you travel closer. ribbons of lively green sit submerged beneath the steady flow of water curling over the ledge where they cling. it pleases your heart to know the cold has not stifled all life. as you admire this miracle, white specks begin to pass before your eyes, spiraling downward, visible only against the darkness of the water until they melt into it.
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