January 24, 2019
Today I snowshoed a total of 3 miles on the North Country Trail behind
AuSable and toward Eagle Lake. After 1.5 miles, I found a nice tree to set my purple cushion upon. It fit perfectly between a crook of large branches, and my feet adorned with snowshoes rested comfortably along the ground.
It was snowing the entire hike and the temperature was 21 degrees — a warm spell compared to what it has been. I resorted to using my plastic notebook cover to shield the pages of my journal as the snow was falling thick and fast causing tiny puddles to form along the paper.
A haiku came to me shortly after I began my hike inspired by the sound of the snow beneath my boots:
It may sound quite trite
but my snowshoes say it’s like
walking on pillows!
As I sat to write I practiced Absorbing my surroundings . . . the snow’s beauty, a trillion tiny flakes absorbing into one entity — a community of whiteness. I Listened to the whompness of my snowshoes and the swish of my poles puncturing the snow crust in rhythm with the day. Kindling the vastness of the scene (hills, snow, trees, snow, leaves, snow, valleys, snow), I let it all soak into my skin as the falling snow settled and made me part of its village.
I began my Read turning to “Writing as a Path to Awakening” by Albert DeSilver. Albert suggested doing a free write with the subject “something being born.” And so for my remaining 15 minute WRITE, I began:
Snow is falling steadily and landing on my electric red coat as I sit here crouched between two tree trunks on a makeshift purple foam chair. I watch the snow fall around me knowing that all of these millions, no trillions, of flakes have just been born high up in the heavens. Lake effect drops from Lake Michigan crystallizing into works of art. They hatched from a speck of dust and moisture clinging to each like an egg and sperm. Traveling through the gray sky they found their way earthward to land on me, soak into me, becoming part of me. Some remain in their natural state of being. They say no two are alike. I sit and marvel at their intricate ways. Some a star, some round balls with pinnacles of shards shouting “Look at me! Look at me!” Some clump together and form mounds upon the ground, rivers of white twisting and turning around the trunks of sleeping trees. Together they form a community, nourishing the earth with frozen water, creating pockets of warmth where deer mice, chipmunks, fox, and bear settle in to sleep . . . but as Frost exclaimed “I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.”