The valley wobbled and fell into winter. No other way to look at it.
Now we are winter.
When the snow started, it didn’t hesitate. It fell. A couple centimeters an hour straight down. Just snow. No wind. No rain. Simply a Fernie Winter come home to roost.
The bears are in. The crows still haw-ing and caw-ing at each other and any perceived intruder. The plants are deadheaded. The leaves raked (or forgotten) and it’s winter.
In the afternoon the neighborhood kids gathered on the hill across the street. Pulling toboggans, sleds and carrying saucers, they climbed the path to the top. Their laughter and shrieks punctuated the cold air long after dark. A small bonfire cast ghostly shadows through snow-covered branches.
There’s an easy comfortable slickness to the roads. There’s a soft silence in a walk late in the night. Even in the day, sounds are muffled and there’s a different timber to the morning.
We fell into winter.
All that’s left is for the hill to open. Or at least the Nordic center.
Ah. Winter.
