By Phyllis Galowitz

Each morning for the last few weeks, a new layer of snow covers the grass, sometimes only an inch or two, sometimes a foot or two. It outlines the branches of the trees, lies across the evergreens and creates the winter garden.  The scene changes hourly. When the sun shines, the snow sparkles, as if it were strewn with diamonds. As the sun disappears behind a cloud, dark shadows crisscross the white snow making mysterious designs.

Phyllis’s giant “meringue pie”

The round, glass-topped table on the deck accumulates snow until I shovel it off. It looks like a huge meringue pie on stilts. It also tells me how many inches of snow have fallen.

Sometimes the position of the sun casts a lavender glow across the perfectly clean snow. Sometimes I can see the busy traffic of footprints from the night before, leading from the woods to the front garden, where the variety of food is different, or maybe there had been a midnight party of all the animals.

I don’t know where they all hide when it’s perfectly still. Sometimes there isn’t a bird in sight. The garden is silent. Other times, there’s wild activity; red squirrels chase each other from tree to tree; birds flit between nearby trees and the bird feeder; a family of turkeys waddles by, in size order; a group of deer emerges from their hiding place.

The scene is always changing. I rarely tire of watching it, but when I do, I move to my favorite chair in the living room, where I have a view of both the back and the front garden and I can listen to a favorite CD and appreciate the indoor plants that seem to be responding to the music as I am.

Interestingly, the music that I’m listening to is “Alina”, by Arvo Pärt. Mr. Pärt says, “I could compare my music to white light which contains all colors. Only a prism can divide the colors and make them appear; this prism could be the spirit of the listener.” What a perfect selection for viewing this white landscape!

The oxalis triangularis open during the daylight

The sky darkens. The oxalis triangularis closes its mahogany petals, making little, half-closed umbrellas. They’ll open again in the morning.~