The wind begins to stir, almost unnoticeably at
first. Nothing more than a faint whisper to tell of
a change that is coming.
But gradually, ever so gradually, a gentle crescendo
to a rustle of fallen leaves that have been waiting
patiently, huddled for protection, secluded in the
out-of-the-way-place of the forest.
They hurry about the landscape, in great
anticipation of what is to come. They must make
way for the snows of Winter that are about to
In the mountains, there seems to be no advanced
warning of what is about to happen. Since late
Summer and throughout the changes of Autumn,
all Nature displays an air of anticipation in hopes
of being able to survive the encroaching cold.
Always knowing that Winter will indeed arrive,
but not too sure as to when.
The snows of Winter arrive quickly and quietly on
the heels of the wind. All Nature seems forced to
listen to the silence of falling snow.
Winter in the mountains is a time of eternal rest
and peace. A time to reflect, to think back, to
ponder that which has happened. To slumber
amidst the silence of falling snow, while
dreaming of what might happen with the coming
of Spring and the reviving of ones soul.