Here are a few of the photos taken on the walk Sam and I went on yesterday. I was going to post them, along with other, different seasonal views of the same areas (and still might at some point in the future) but it sounded like a lot of trouble, so for now, I won't bother.
Until then, here you go...
For the first time in way-too-long, Sam and I went down to the rail trail for a brief walk. The occasion, if you can call it that, was to see what the trail looked like under a blanket of freshly fallen snow.
When we arrived, there was no one else in sight. Judging by the indentation of what appeared to be a single bicycle track running the length of the snow covered path, someone had been there much earlier - likely just after the snow had started falling sometime the night before.
Other than that, there were no other signs of life. No Cars. No foot prints - human or otherwise. Nothing. It was just Sam and I.
We walked the path like we always do, stopping frequently to comment on how pretty things looked, this time with a coating of snow. And the quiet. Everything was so still and quiet.
I remember this as a kid, going sledding after a freshly fallen snow - and stopping every once in awhile to listen to... nothing. No sounds. No rustling of the trees. No singing of the birds. Nothing but stillness.
We kept the walk short, partly due to the cold, partly due to the effort of walking in the not-too-deep-but-still-slippery snow.
We walked as far as crossing the Bridge of Death - an uncomfortable experience (for me) under the so-called Best of Conditions. This, though, was not the Best of Conditions. The bridge was even more slippery than the path - and the normally, presumably cold water below, was now icy - offering me even less comfort than usual over the prospect of falling in.
Walking back, we again passed the field and walked back through the woods. The stillness was broken by a lone bird singing, hidden somewhere in the snow covered trees above. Sam and I stopped and stood quietly in this black and white and gray world, this otherwise silent world, and listened ... until the singing stopped.
Sam and I continued our walk, out of the woods, back to the car and headed back home.
In yet another example of how Sam in unlike me, he was actually having trouble getting to sleep for several nights beforehand because, as he put it, "I'm excited to see my coworkers."
Then again, if I had coworkers like his, I might feel the same way. Maybe.
Here we are, barely a week into the new year and it feels like the new year is too long already.
I do my best to vere away from politics around here - at least as best I can - though it's a decision I struggle with. First of all, there are way more articulate people around that express coherent views far better than I. And secondly, there has to be somewhere, no matter how insignificant, to get away from it all - even if for only a moment (I think I'm referring to me, not necessarily you). While this is far from my "happy place" (which I have yet to find, by the way) at least it's a "place" - and right now, that'll do.
But even I have my breaking point. Now, a line has been crossed. I just noticed that, for some reason, instead of the usual soft, quilted pattern, my new toilet paper instead has deep and pronounced ridges. How long has this been going on? Who's responsible for this travesty?
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| I blame Antifa. |
Perhaps in celebration of the unusual event of having an extra family member at home, last night, after a fine dinner of take-out Chinese food, Sam reading me a local news story or two, taking our nightly showers (Sam and I - individually, that is), and then sitting on the couch, Sam, Rachael and I spent the remainder of our New Year's Eve (and the conclusion of an exhausting year) together, quietly watching a last minute addition to our evening.
It was mutually decided that it was way too late to start a movie - especially after all the recent festivities - and the aforementioned Exhausting-and-Thank-God-It's-About-to-Conclude previous year, so instead, we watched a very appropriate "Mr. Bean" - before retiring to bed at the more than reasonable New Year's Eve hour of about nine forty-five.
All-in-all, a pretty good New Year's Eve.
It's a little late, but if you would like to pretend to join us, we'd be happy to have you...
