No Newsday

Which isn't to say that nothing happened. I borrowed an old pair of snowshoes and wandered into the woods this morning. I had noticed on the drive to work that patches of forest were laden with snow, others were bare as if no snow had come. I figured it for wind patterns. The snow is a light powder, deep above the ankles, so even snow shoes only keep it slightly at bay. I saw mouse tracks from early this morning. But mostly, the snow was untracked across the beech grove. The beeches and maples and cherries have all begun their seasonal renewal. Up close, you can see the second and third generation of proto-leaf pressing outward. It looks a little like a tight cone of paper unfurling, but more patterned. Teardrops within teardrops, opening skyward. The beeches have a reddish orange color. The lowest part of the proto-leaf just beginning to emerge has a light orange color, putting a stripe through the otherwise red bud. You can see the shape of buds making their slow reach out of every branch in the forest. Some are yellowish, some are darker. Trees do not concern themselves with snow or cold or ice or what we humans cower from and wait. They obey the light.

I did not turn on my radio as I drove to work this morning. I did not read the newspaper. I listened to my children marvel at the snow in the forest.