To
paraphrase Robert Frost—‘Stopping by woods on a snowy evening’. Last week we
had a snowfall that led to some accumulation of snow, and it was just exhilarating
to be out in the early morning, taking pictures of the snowy trees and this
bridge covered in snow, before too many other wanderers discovered the same places. It brought to mind my
childhood days during wintertime, when I would find a secret place under one of
the tall evergreen trees outside our house window; its many branches were often
heavily weighed down with snow, almost touching the ground. The heavy branches
created a little nest for me to crawl into and hide from the others, at least
for a little while. I loved that feeling of aloneness, of having a secret
hiding place. I would sit there and enjoy the silence and the whiteness of the
snow and the sun glittering on the tree branches. Sometimes we would play
hide-and-seek, and no one ever found me if I hid there.
It’s funny
how poetry and photos can remind you of what once was. I think it’s incredible that the memories lie
there, buried under years of living, and then a photo, a word, or even a smell,
can take us back to earlier times in our lives. The memories don’t
disappear; they just wait to be re-discovered.
