There is something magical about the peace that comes with the snow; especially the unexpected snow.
Plans are disrupted, the lazy morning hours linger, a second round of coffee is brewed. No page of the morning paper goes unread. The world beyond our cozy house doesn’t seem to exist. Time all but stops.
Things are simple. There is no rush about the day. The walk needs shoveling, and as soon as I have finished, the project needs repeating. The smell of chocolate chip cookies fills that air; the white wintertime blanket visible from out the window called for baking.
Grocery list is made and boots laced up, a trip to the market is an adventure on foot. Hood pulled tight, with only my face peaking out, I trudge through the light powder that has not stopped falling. About an inch an hour since day-break, who knows how much feel during the moon lit hours. It is winter in Bend, Oregon. Finally, it has returned.
I had big plans for the weekend, long rides east of town. In the sunshine. With friends. But this was not to be; and somehow, strangely, I am okay with that.
It is February, it is winter, I live in Bend. And while the sun is shining on the west side of the Cascades, there is no place I would rather be. Here, now, at home.