Snow settles soft and silently upon the pine branches. It gathers itself in drifts and wisps at the base of mighty trees, lain over the top of brown pine needles and fallen pine cones. The crisp smell of the new covering clings to the chill and it all hangs in the weighted hush and calm of the tucked-in winter. A deep breath tumbles into the air, rolling in its foggy cloud and dispersing quickly into the wild.
Steps crunch on the icy layer of the untrodden trail that weaves around thick trunk and fallen limb gracefully exploring corner and shadow. It ventures ahead discovering, pausing, gazing, soaking in the newness of the snowfall and the ancient history of the forest.
There is no rush here. The cold slows all things down to steady steps and steady heartbeats. Life happens in a slow, unceasing rhythm. Each blow of breeze and shake of tree plays their part and the song never pauses or wavers. The frozen air kisses the skin of exposed cheeks and eye lids causing one to blush and attempt to cover themselves again in thick fabrics, hiding from their secret lover. Hearts and souls warm to the shimmer of the sun on intricate fallen ice and freedom tiptoes in the quiet.