A Soft White Damn

The snow doesn't give a soft white damn whom it touches.

~ E.E. Cummings

There is no snow on the ground as I write this. In fact, it's been teetering between rain and freezing rain all morning. The following images were taken after February's big snowfall. Hopefully it was the last big one.


Stepping outside of my apartment, I can see that the parking lot and walkway have been shoveled. Not all of the roads and sidewalks were as clear though. Let's head out to the lake.






If those slingshot chairs, aptly named The Launch Pad were real, they might just be powerful enough to send you out into the open water.






A fresh snowfall makes it difficult to discern where the land ends and the lake begins. The tree does grow rather close to the water.





This walkway leads onto a large T-shaped dock. It's mostly covered in snow but you can still make out the outline.






You can see it a lot better from this angle. Just a few months ago, these guys were having the time of their lives fetching tennis balls thrown from the pier, into the water.






This was as far as I could get around the lake. The snow was too deep to traverse beyond this point.






In a different direction, this guy was accepting his fate of trudging through the snow.






He had several metres of frozen hose behind him, too.






Heading back toward home, this bright red truck amid all of the snowy white caught my eye.






The Little Library was wearing its snowcap. Nobody had visited since the recent storm.






This is the parking lot at the Peterborough Memorial Centre. It took a long time for those piles to melt. I do believe they're completely gone by now - more than a month after the snowfall.






A few days later, warming temperatures made for a quick melt. Bright, late afternoon sunshine made for saturated hues. And puddles offered some colourful reflections.






Walking into the lowering sun made for golden light.






The road that leads to home - where Netflix awaits.

Silent, Soft and Slow

Out of the bosom of the air,

Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,

Over the woodlands brown and bare,

Over the harvest-fields forsaken,

Silent, and soft, and slow

Descends the snow.

~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

We've been getting our share of cold, snowy weather. It's been better than last year, so far but winter is well and truly here. All photos were taken through glass -some through glass and screen. And some on different days.


My first glimpse of the sun coming over Blueberry Island, as seen through my bathroom window.






Turning to the opposite direction, you can see her lovely rays landing across the snow of our yard.







Through the kitchen window, across the yard, across the road and up the hills on the opposite side, the trees collected frost and snow which lasted over tend days before we had a warming spell.








And then the snow came in earnest.







It continued to fall despite a few shoveling sessions.







Eventually the sky began to clear and the vague warmth of sunshine tried to burn through. Despite that, it kept snowing for a while.







The wind got creative - making icy patterns on the frozen, snowy lake.







Sunset arrived with huge, cotton candy clouds. This is the view from my computer desk. I just lifted my camera over the monitor.




 


And not wishing to be out-pinked by the sun, the moon did her best to illuminate a lovely sky.

Even for a summer person like me, it's difficult to not love a winter like that.

Knee Deep

We're comfortably settled into March, which means that temperatures should be warmer, snowfalls less frequent and newly-sprouted greenery more apparent. None of this has happened yet this year -at least not for long.

This past weekend brought our biggest snowstorm of the season. It began rather timidly on Friday afternoon, hesitating occasionally, deceiving us to trust that it might have spent its burden and moved on. We knew better though. We'd been listening to various news stations and weather channels, all which told us that the brunt of the storm would lurk for a few hours and then swoop in overnight. We took advantage of the lull and wandered around the local pathways at night.

This shadow on the pathway caught my eye and my curiosity.

Since there are several light sources along the route, it took us a moment to determine where the actual leaf was. Looking up we found the single leaf clinging to its branch.

Two days later, I was able to locate the same leaf in the light of day.

Once we were back in the warmth of home, the storm began in earnest. We awoke to several centimetres of the freshly-fallen fluff, and it continued to blow, swirl and accumulate throughout the day and into the following night. By the time it was over, we'd endured an additional thirty centimeters (12 inches). The task of shoveling our way out became more challenging as we struggled to find a place to toss it. The drifts and previously-shoveled snow had created banks that were taller than I am. We completed the task in several shifts.

Neighbours were out working away at their own driveways, stopping only to comment on what a persistent winter we've been having.

Snow drifts dwarfed the cars parked alongside them.

Our own driveway was a challenge. Just how high can we possibly toss this stuff?

By Sunday morning, the clouds had moved on, and the sunlight which reflected off of the drifts was intense. In the afternoon, I decided to take a walk in the park. Paths had scarcely been etched by previous travelers but it was enough to adequately allow passage. I snapped a few photos and headed to the warmth of home.

There's no doubt that this season has brought some wondrous beauty but now I'm becoming just a bit anxious for spring to arrive.

This park bench is a good measure of the snow's depth.

A thistle stands tall in spite of the recent blizzard.

So does this stem of Queen Anne's Lace.

Rabbit tracks were everywhere I looked. They seemed to be less defined because of the deep snow.

In a few days, I'll post some images that were taken on yesterday's excursion - one which caused plenty of snow to find its way inside my boots. Stay tuned!