I wish I had a picture today, something to bring you along on my hour long walk to work this morning. I left the house in the cobalt predawn, it is silent here on Goat Hill, especially this time of year when the creek is frozen solid and the birds are still sleeping deep in their winter beds. The snow was (and is still) falling thick:in big, damp flakes.  My hat, mittens and sleeves were immediately coated and white the water seeping inward toward my body. Shortly after my first left turn two red foxed ran across the trail in front of me, their vibrant coats cloaked in the dark light. I quietly slogged through the fresh snow breaking trail for the two miles to my work, the sky lightened to a dull grey as I came to the steep downhill that perches above the valley. From this vantage point there is a dizzying slope that aims straight down to the peat bog; the wind sweeps up this powerline cut and ravens whirl and warble in the up drafts year round. Today was no different as they gurgled and cawed above me as I slid down butt first in the deep snow, just us and the millions of snowflakes.

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