The snow falls silently. Delicate white trails appear, following branches, tracing paths not seen in the mass of tangled branches while summer reigns. There is a magic in being the first to walk in a blanket of snow. The feeling of being the first and only to witness this silence. Then you notice the tiny track of a bird who landed in the road. A few hops and it was gone again. Here is the trail of a mouse that braved the wide open to get to seeds, still tucking away a hoard for the deep winter.

Ice has appeared, covering the ponds and even Cedar Lake. It's smooth surface tempts, but wiser heads know that it is not yet enough to hold anything but the snow. Soon enough little houses will form communities over the best fishing spots. The muskrat still show up on the edges, ready to dive for safety at a sudden movement or sound.

The river is open, flowing at flood stage when it should be low and slow. The power of the water will keep it open for a while, but one morning, after weeks if cold, it will submit and become yet another white spot in the landscape..

Deer hunting keeps me from where I want to walk, but soon I will trudge through winter postcards, finding beauty in the frozen landscape.