From the start I knew how to snowshoe,
mastering it easily, but now I like
to leave it to others, much the way I do
cross country skiing. I prefer to walk,

 

to mush through six inches of snow,
travel the trails, and identify the trees.
I love the solitude, and I love the feel
of snow under my boots, its crisp clarity.

 

When I’m tired of going where no other
has snow shoed or skied before, then
I like to walk their tracks, following them
deep into parts of the forest I’ve not been,

 

especially when the white pines’ boughs
bend under snow and yellow leaves
skitter across the trail and the sky is close
and angels by the millions fill the air.

 

Bless these winter adventurers who love
the silence they are entering, their own
breath spiraling into a cold December day.
Oh, bless these angels of things that are.