By Buffy Calvert

Snow, far from masking the world, defines it. Every sweep and curve of the hillside is outlined against the sky or the dark woods. The pitch of the mountain gleams behind the trees. Little hollows catch shadows; knolls shine in the sun.

Snow-rimmed bare twigs and garlanded firs, their silhouettes stretched sharp against the white slab, reveal the very essence of trees.

When we wake, nightly prowls of deer pock the surface, a contour map of their nocturnal passages for our daytime eyes.

No wonder our cardinals stay north for the winter. They must know how inky crests and scarlet robes glow against the untouched canvas of the snow. ~