Happy snow daze

Before it melts, I should share our snow.

The second significant snowfall in a week brought wet, fat flakes to settle softly on every twig and branch in Brooklyn. The first snowstorm had been just that: a blizzard blowing sideways, piling in angry, wind-packed drifts. This one was different. And it had that earlier foundation to build on. 

We walked into it through our neighborhood streets and stood like tourists, serially and then permanently amazed. Behind our masks our mouths were often open.

The lake in Prospect Park was iced over and snowed on into a sense of endlessness.

The Boathouse (from which no one ever boats).

And snow people proliferated. This one, with beech leaf eyes, was my favorite.

The trees were breathtaking, and the forest paths other-worldly.

From the silence we emerged into the circus. There was not an unhappy person, anywhere.

We do.

The sky began clearing gently halfway through our nearly three-hour walk, and then lifted in time for the sun to improve on what already seemed perfect.

I wish Frederick Law Olmsted and Calvert B. Vaux could have seen their park on this day, in this unimaginable age. 

One of the walks of our lifetime.

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