Snowfall is a special treat, one which we experienced all too rarely in Maryland. We had our first big snowstorm of the year this past week, and it was quite amusing for this ex-Baltimorean to watch the mighty Boston machinery handle the situation on my brief daily walk into the Longwood Medical Area: walkways and roads carefully salted days in advance, fleets of bulldozers pushing two feet of snow into neat mountains along the sidewalk, trucks collecting the stuff by the ton and whisking it away to who-knows-where. Quite a contrast to my old home, where the combined driving prowess and weather-preparedness of Baltimore meant that any more than an inch of rain would cause a citywide pile-up of disaster-movie proportions.
Two days after the storm, Jane and I head back up to the Breakheart Reservation to test out our new showshoes - a pandemic purchase among many, as it were. The snowy woods, too, are something special. Although much of Breakheart is linked by paved trails, we break away into the woodland paths surrounding Silver Lake, and go for a few hours without seeing another person. I find myself standing quietly, in awe, beside the frozen lake, breathing in the fresh, cold air and listening for sounds in the wind. The tapping of a distant woodpecker. The soft thump of snow falling from treetops. The wingbeats of geese in flight - so late now to be so far north. The landscape feels more personal now that we can see clear across the lake and through the trees, passing through the woods without the foliage to conceal us, or insect hums and birdsong to accompany us. The world has gone to ground. It’s restful. It’s pulled in close. It’s waiting for something - whatever comes next.
We slosh our way through the forest, high-stepping our way back to the car, and back to the rest of a quiet, pre-holiday weekend in the city.
