A wakening to a world hushed and radiant, a canvas freshly painted.
Red bird winging across grey sky, and you earthbound, the first to walk across a pure white field, snow outlining every thin black branch and twig, like calligraphy.
Another day, you buckle on your snowshoes and trek alone, following the tracks of small creatures, tuning into the movements of hidden birds, savoring the many shades of blue and silver in the frozen streams.
Later, stamping in from the cold, ice caught in your mittens, the scent of sweet woodsmoke and something good cooking on the stove. Peeling off boots and growing sleepy as the world outside fills up with softer and softer white and darker and darker skies and the purple twilight that comes always too soon.
The choices seem few in the interludes of winter when it does not snow, and the branches are naked, the world harsh. The easy road is back to your screen and bed and books — but what happens if you dare to become another kind of winter creature?
Trudging new trails along the river, you become a connoisseur of subtle colors — the orange berry pierced by the tip of a sepia thorn, held against the smoke-blue sky. You become a seeker of light and unexpected views. You might learn the calls and screams of the winter birds, touch the textures of the trees, and study the shapes of pinecones.
It takes a certain kind of warrior to brave the wilds of winter without the grace of snow. The air is bitter, the trees are bare.
Let yourself be battered by the wind. Feel your heart in your throat and know yourself a warm winter animal alone in the world. Cry if it comes, and also let something wonderful rise. To walk like this in solitude, in the wild winter days, you begin to forget your purpose and find your power. You become soft and pure. Your heart melts. All your atoms are unique, like snowflakes. A bluejay screams you from your reveries. With or without snow, if you walk outside in winter the world will wake to meet you.
Join the family! 
