Thursday, January 20, 2011
Two or three glorious sunny days earlier this week, and we got out snowshoeing to enjoy it - deep powder snow that let you sink in a long way even with snowshoes. The bright sun on the white snow reflected a million sparkles beneath the cobalt blue sky. The camera simply doesn't do it justice.
One day we walked down a concession road that lies buried in snow, unused but by snowshoers and snowmobiles in the winter. Another day I snowshoed through the nearby back woods and along the fencerow on the edge of the back field, leaving a strange track of snowshoe and pole prints. I use an old pair of ski poles for snowshoeing.
The old snowshoe tracks someone had left earlier were the only mark across the unbroken field of snow until I arrived - now partly drifted in as if they were left by a ghost. On the north boundary of the field, the old drystone walls, four feet high, were completely buried in fresh snow. We carried on, the dog gallumphing through the deep snow and getting completely exhausted, until we reached the huge broken stump of the old maple, silhouetted against the brilliant blue sky, before heading for home.