Last night the wind howled wildly through the dark hours.  The snow predicted by Environment Canada had begun falling well before midnight, when my husband took our little toy poodle out before we went up to bed.  The snow falling wet and thick enough to warrant putting a little raincoat on him for protection from the exceedingly wet stuff coming down.

In the winter at night in bed looking at the stained glass windows of our bedroom if there's a light pink glow we know it's snowing.  And last night, throughout the night those windows glowed pink unrelentingly, and exquisitely.  When we were younger we looked forward to these night-time snow events with great anticipation.  The beauty that resulted from those events is always breathtaking with everything covered; a startling-to-the-eyes white mantle weighing down trees, blanketing rooftops and roadways, a picture of winter otherworldliness.

This morning, just after six my husband roused himself, dressed warmly and hustled out to the back of the house with the intention of clearing off the deck, the steps leading below and a few of the pathways so our little dog would be accommodated when brought out a few hours later.  While he was busy shovelling the snow kept descending.  I used to take Riley out when he was a tiny tyke of a puppy during these winter snow events and it seemed magical.

This is a dozen years later, we're all older.  My husband got back into our snug bed for a few hours more of rest and sleep and when we finally got up the morning was well advanced.  Looking out our front door I watched for awhile, as the snow continued falling in fist-sized clusters, clogging up the landscape with its soft loveliness.

And, after breakfast, out he hied himself once again, this time to withdraw the mechanical snowthrower from its sheltering shed to dig us out from under the snow that had fallen and was continuing to fall, and which is anticipated to complete its journey from sky to earth by tomorrow morning.