First run in the snow earlier this week. Running trails, now matter how many times you’ve run on them, still look, when photographed, like pathways into adventure and mystery. The changing seasons add to the richness of that mystery.
Changing seasons always make me feel the passage of time, and memories arrive like carloads of visitors. This is my fourth winter running this trail, but as I look south from this bridge, I see the rope swing I just discovered this summer, where my son and his visiting cousins made some new memories in this beautiful spot by swinging over and over again into the creek. The rope is waiting for next summer while the snow settles peacefully. Winter arrives like no other season, so suddenly announcing itself with that first snow. Running on the very first day of snow is a sweet way to welcome its stillness, its dark short days sometimes relieved by the brightness of fresh snow, and its insistence on patience.