Walks In the Woods

Do snow angels go to heaven?

Is it true no two snowflakes are the same?

Have you ever stopped by a woods on a snowy evening 

There was a curious county boy who went out on a snowy Christmas morning. He went out looking for Christmas. He was dressed in many layers making his steps staggered and burdened. As he crossed the wet slushy road that would lead to the deer trail that recently had been widened by the loggers he pauses to look back to see the smoke rising from the chimney. It comforted him to know although now cold, he would return to a cozy cookstove. There was a gentle snow falling adding to that which now reached his ankles. When they measured it last evening it was the height of a tall pinecone that had fallen from one of the overburdened branches that now bowed low in homage.

          As he made his way across the small wooden bridge be pauses to see the crystals races to reach the center of the gently flowing stream. It would need to get much colder if he hoped to ride his bike on the creek this year looking for the ice castles and crystal caves along the cliffs that meet the water's edge. Just past the bride he turns and begins his assent  up the steep logging road. The trees fold in making a tunnel and he passes as if driving in a blizzard on its slick surface. It's three steps forward and two steps back. The village below is imprisoned by the tree trunk bars and the boy imagines he can smell the bacon cooking from today's breakfast. A  little further on a farmstead is framed by pine boughs. The red of the barn reminds him of the swamp berries his mother loves to gather to use in her woodland wreathes.

               He hears a chirping nearby and looks up to have a dusting of snow fall upon his already frozen face. He sees the first chickadee of the day. The boy believes them to be the best of the snowbirds because they look like antique graying barns that stood whitewashed once brand new. Following his fluttering friend he makes his way to the tiny waterfall that lives her in this quiet hollow. The falls sing a Christmas carol of their own and the snow laden branches join in on the choruses. The child is amazed at how quickly the singing stops as he passes through the forgotten orchard. Finding one of the last fruits of the season captured perfectly in the frozen grasses looking like rouge on a snowman's cheek. Leaving it behind for the whitetail deer to have a late morning snack.

               Now nearing his thinking place, he sees the first of the dying outbuildings that compose this solitary homestead. Looking in horse stalls for any signs of life he hears the scurrying of the creatures from the traditional story his parents had read to him the night before. As he goes through the gaping  doorway he hears the cooing of a mourning dove and he begins to sing Silent Night as a wind jingles the dusty horse bells long unused.

               He know that he should be hurrying home and hopes that his parent have found the note he left on the kitchen table, but, there is one last place he must visit. He reaches the abandoned house and enters through where the pantry once stood. Stepping ever so carefully, not to fall through the floorboards, disturbing the peace. he comes to the place that long ago must have been filled with cookies baking and a whistling teakettle. Whenever he comes here the boy tries to remember what it was like before the hermit man died leaving it all exposed to the elements. the boy had come here on several occasions with his mother delivering pumpkin pies to the man who lived in the shanty nearby.  

        There is an eerie silence enfolding the dwelling as the timid boy ventures on making his way to the staircase. Opening the squeaky door the boy wonders if maybe he should turn around, but, decides to go upward. Leaving the door ajar to lighten the dark passageway he begins to sing the chorus of the song he was singing earlier. At the top of the stairs there is a room that has a barren bed and box springs along with other containers of debris. Pausing for a moment he shuffles though one and finds a blue mason jar full of discarded buttons which he takes to use as a gift for his frugal grandmother.

        Standing the boy see a door in the corner that he believes may lead to the attic. As if ascending into the sky wondering what golden treasures he will find. There is but a tiny  window that lays broken at  the end on the floor illuminating the many wooden boxes that are piled high to the ceiling, leaving even a narrower  path than the one he just ascended. the boy wonders how many gifts were safely hidden here when the house was alive with a family and decides to make his way back to his own.

               Retracing  his steps as if following a pirates map he arrives back outside to see the snow has stopped, for now at least, so he is off on his way. There is a farm road that leads to the dirt road that will take him to the main road where his parents live.   The snow is deeper now so it will take him almost a half hour to reach home. He likes coming this way because it is all downhill allowing him to see the welcoming smoke from the chimney long before he reaches his final destination. Quickening his step he is warmed thinking about the hot chocolate his mom will make for him while he is opening the surprises that await him under the simply decorated tree.

         The thoughtful boy now realizes that he had found many signs of Christmas along the way. It was in the peaceful swaying of the snow laden trees, it was in the sound of silence that all nature sings, it was in the beautiful blue jay picking bright red holly berries,  it was  in the memories of a time that was and in the hope of a time that will be, it was in the forgotten stable of a decaying barn, and it was in the joy of the season. But, most of all Christmas would stay with him wherever he went because Christmas lived in his heart.