The frosty mornings airbrush everything a soft white these days. The lawn in front of the Lodge sparkles in the early sunlight. The pond freezes over with a thin wafer of ice. While I always appreciate warm weather, visits from Old Man Winter bring their own beauty to Stevenson Ridge.
We have a small flock of Canadian Geese that have been wintering along the edge of our pond this year. There are about twenty of them. Canadian Geese are grazers, like deer or cows, so they nibble on the grass around the pond, keeping the lawn trimmed during the winter.
This morning, my dog Emmett came to work with me. When he hopped out of the car, the geese immediately hopped into the air and headed for the pond. Usually they splash down amidst a chorus of honking, and if there’s any ice, they just break on through. But this morning, the ice had thickened enough overnight that it didn’t break when the geese landed. Instead, it sang. It was the coolest, most unexpected sound—like a metal cable stretched taught and then plucked by the giant unseen hand of the wind. Goose feet on ice—who knew?
Emmett paid them no notice, but I was frozen by the sight and sound. Once more, Stevenson Ridge had some new bit of wonder to offer me. Even on a day so cold that I wanted to hustle inside, I couldn’t help but stand there in awe and appreciation.