Snow falls softly on the quiet hillside, the flakes small and light – but numerous and relentless. A sparkling blanket of white spreads out slowly over yesterday’s footprints, filling in the lumpy gaps to restore the seamless covering over the frozen earth. The trees stand tall through the dusting of power, their branches stretching out to catch the sugary gift from above. They wait in silence to be clothed in white, their traditional dress for the coldest months of the year. The occasional raucous squawk of the blackbird is the only sound to disturb the hushed mountain valley during this winter ritual.
I stare out the window, watching the ceremony with wonder. I cannot look away from this scene of natural serenity. The drama unfolding before me is subtle and beautiful.
The sky hangs low – a grey mist that envelops everything I see. With my mind’s eye, I imagine what this alpine landscape looks like once the fog lifts and the sun shines from a bright blue backdrop. Glorious. Absolutely stunning.
But I will have to wait for another weekend in Switzerland to truly see that part of the story. Winter has begun, and her tale is one of many twists and turns. I have a bigger part to play in this drama. I’m sure of it.