More About the Snow

When we ventured out of the house for the first time after last weekend’s snow, I wasn’t planning to trek anywhere except in and out of the gym parking lot, which I hoped was plowed and salted. Paul drove us all out the lane slowly, testing the conditions. “Oh, stop!” I said as we approached the road. “I need a picture.” Mostly it was the sky, I think. The texture of it.

I crunched across the road and tested the snow at the edge. I couldn’t see where the ditch was – everything had filled up with snow and looked level. I shrugged and stepped in. Carefully. The drop off came at about three steps, and I went thigh-deep. I didn’t fall until a few steps later when I was almost up on the level and getting careless. This was the point at which, I was to hear later, Paul said, “Oh, man. I really hope I don’t have to go get her.” He’d thought, when I popped out of the car and did a slide-step across the road, that not being able to see where the ditch was would mean that I wouldn’t try to cross it. 

The problem is that all the best pictures are on the other side of the ditch. 

I popped up, conscious that at least three people had watched me faceplant into a snowdrift, brushed off, and waved back at the car. I couldn’t tell whether anyone saw me, but I’d tried. I stomped around a little more to find a stable spot in the field, and took some pictures. 

Even there, the snow was over the tops of my boots. I might need better boots.

Despite the cold toes and numbing fingers, I’m glad I jumped the ditch. 

When we came back a few hours later, we stopped again (Paul is very patient) and I followed the tracks from my previous jaunt to get another shot. All the clouds were gone, the dense, fluffy blanket blown away by the winter wind. The sky had put on blue ombre instead. 

Different. Just as good, though, I think.

Which one do you like better? And if you feel like saying so, why?