snow piles puffy pillows

snow piles puffy pillows

on limbs, plasters black tree trunks,

cloaks the bowing cedars

Late December surprise, lightning and thunder at night, heavy rain drumming on the roof, freezing by morning, turning to sleet, then driven by a northerly into a ground blizzard all day. I crawl into town, squirreling around corners and sliding through an intersection. On the way home, the wind blasts the snow into opaque billows, obscuring the road. I'm the only one on the road, so I creep down the yellow center line, barely visible under snow on top of ice. At our turnoff, the truck starts up the first gravel hill and stops halfway, wheels spinning in place. Slowly, carefully, I back down, trying not to slide off into the ditch, and park the truck by the mailboxes. I'm not dressed for trekking in a blizzard and the wind quickly cuts through to the skin. But cold, wet hands don't stop me from pulling out my camera to record the beauty of the snow -- white plaster on the north side of black tree trunks, puffy white pillows piled on every limb, cedars bowing under white cloaks. Half a mile from home, I hear a strange roar. Could it be the wind? Well, in a way, yes. It's our wind turbine, the blades a blur, the tail cocked sideways, the tall tower bending in the gale. My thin socks have slipped down inside my boots and when I take the shortcut to the house through deeper snow, I quickly get snow on my bare ankles. So I'm really glad to get home to our warm soapstone wood stove and a hot cup of peppermint tea.