Snow doesn't come often in the Carolinas, but this year we have been blessed. The first snow that came, I eagerly Jeeped down the road to my favorite trail. It was a lovely day, quiet with that special hush that only comes with thick snow.
I felt the years melt away with each squeaky step. My cheeks grew flushed and my eyes got as wide as a child's. Look, deer tracks! And here, the way the snow makes puffy little mounds on each holly leaf! And there, a perfect heart shape in the snow! How am I to endure all this beauty?
And so it began. Photo snapping led to poetry. The rhythm of our steps would slow and stop as I would get inspired over and over to write just one more haiku. My partner ranged far ahead at times, and each time I caught up to him I would cheerily shout "I wrote another one, wanna hear?"
On such a day, I feel my connection to the Earth so strongly that it leaks out in poems, spontaneous scampers and a radiance that surely must be visible. I take such joy in walking the same trail month after month, to see the passing of the seasons as they should be seen: close-up and with an appreciation for the symphony of minute changes that heralds each one's passing.
This is ritual in its purest form: no-form. Walking in snow, to me, is a sure path to altered consciousness, to Divine communion, to meditation. One's steps are naturally slow, giving rise to present-moment awareness.
Here is one of the haiku written on that hike:
following the deer
into quiet snowy woods
here I am at peace
by Jan Nerone
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