Yesterday, the snow was cleared away.  The snow pack that remained, the result of two 30-cm snowfalls a week apart, provided a challenge to negotiate as best we could.  We hadn't been able to venture out the day of the storm, into the ravine for our usual walk, although our son did get out and managed our usual circuit.  I'd never have been able to endure the physical stress, without the trails having first been tamped down by others braving the elements.

I am now, officially, chronologically, 76 years of age, and what I was able to accomplish at age 40, 50 or even 60 is not what I can now manage to do; the spirit is willing but the physical resources become strained beyond capacity.  When we did venture out yesterday, it was difficult enough because as many people who had been out hadn't succeeded in doing much other than shifting the burden of snow about.  So we forged our way through the ravine on our usual route, shifting ourselves through the snow, fumbling downhill kicking up loose snow as we went, and trudging uphill, quite exhausting my physical resources in the process, slowing me down considerably.

It was cold, the high of minus-8 complicated by a stiff wind.  But the beauty of our surroundings was incomparable; the trees heavily laden with puffs of snow, and since the sun was out, looking in that direction one saw sparkles of light glinting, gleaming off the branches limned with ice.

The tapestry of winter at its most magnificent.