Nature gives to every time and season some beauties of its own;
and from morning to night,
as from cradle to the grave,
is but a succession of changes so gentle and easy
that we can scarcely mark their progress.
Charles John Huffam Dickens
It is Saturday morning and the temperature is hovering at -13 degrees Celsius and I cannot wait for the sun to come up, so that I can once again get back out there in the bush with my snowshoes on.
On Friday I had made my way back to that bush with those neglected, dusty old snowshoes that have been waiting and was certainly not disappointed. It was just as beautiful as I had remembered from last year. Beautiful is the only word I can think of, it was so beautiful. I could compare it to a once used canvas now covered with a base coat of white paint. Where black, grey and brown textured trees poked out from this new wet paint, standing naked and tall surrounded and now painted with a wispy whiteness also dripping from its own branches.
I wished I could take out a pallet of paint to try to capture and show you this beauty with my own paint brush. I cannot even come close to describing this kind of beauty with mere words. I am not a painter so I tried to capture the beauty with my camera, trying anything that could freeze that moment in time.
There were deep tracks from a meandering deer cutting through the snow, slipping between those dark naked trees. The tracks headed down the hill and to the edge of the frozen pond. I could see where the lone deer had walked out onto that frozen pond and had found the small opening where the cold water bubbles from a never disappointing spring. The deer had found what it needed and then headed off to look amongst the trees for anything resembling green.
There is nowhere I would rather be. Those cool damp days of spring where new sprouts of green cover the ground and the trees spring forth with life. Those hot sweltering drought driven summer days where those greens shrivel, turn to brown and crunch under my feet. Those beautiful fall days full of an incredibly bright mix of colours, a beauty beyond any imagination, to then fall to the ground like a lush carpet of many colours.
I have always found beauty and peace back here.
The winters, I have to say are my favourite, its beauty is incomparable to the other seasons. It has always looked and felt like something brand new waiting for me to make it anything I wanted. Mother Nature has pretty much made those other three seasons her own canvas but I can make this wintery blank canvas my very own. Make it my own piece of art just by snowshoeing through that white paint and creating a pattern of tracks alongside those other animals that wanted to not miss the beauty and take the opportunity to create their own painting too.
Oh I cannot wait to get out there again this morning. Here comes the sun, I have to hurry, my canvas waits for no one.