I can't explain the peace that is a muted snow day in the green mountains. We spent the morning cuddled up before walking the river once more, but today in thick snow and thicker as the sunken path led us under the pines that shuddered in the breeze, and with it further flurries of speckled white.
After walking for an hour or so, we clambered into the car and warmed our faces, which the wind had turned to stone, and we drove the mud tracks that had us drifting upon the ice that the snow plough had gone over on one side.
I was awoken this morning with a true sense of glee and shortly after was reminded of a lovely poem I came across a few moons past, which cannot better describe how I feel for this beautiful place today.
*Twisting roads through green speckled hills
Red barns that dot a summer long gone
Skiers seeking perennial winter thrills
In woodlands deep and silently strong
From here to Newhart and Frost they go
To a spirit of Yankee grace and solitude
Where people in tone pleasantly speak
And show God their eternal gratitude
It is a long road that I've often taken
When my mind must gain peace from want
And leave my troubles behind forsaken
As I cross that brook into green Vermont
by C.A. Morrow*