It snowed on the island yesterday.
This morning, as the sun returned to the sky, I went walking.
The roads here are lined with trees and cottages. Today, both were full white.
I went down the dirt road past cottages and spruces, cottages and pines. Each holding up the weight of winter.
Light from the east grew, and I began to notice the pine trees. How they carried heavy snow on their light, loose boughs. The relaxed way those boughs bent, but didn’t cower under the pressure.
Looking at the pines, I couldn’t help but think that these trees never asked for winter, but still they kept rising.
The snow came, they said yes. The rain came, they said yes. The ice, wind. Yes. Yes. And continued reaching up.
After an hour in the morning snow and light, I returned back down the dirt road, kicked off my boots on the door step. And went inside, carrying the scent of pine and a new way of being in the world.