Typically, I’d be quite pleased to take a winter walk after the snow has fallen. To have a camera and a good friend along, if possible, and then to see what nature had painted. Generally, the paths have been trodden and worn.
But this time, we were out in it. During it.
We were the ones upon the trails, leaving our footsteps there first.
And we were completely, blissfully alone. It was only us.
But I was mostly struck by the sounds. The sounds of our footsteps crunching into soft snow. Of the wind like a long exhale, a muted hush. Like a mother prompting her child to quiet.
There was a peace in it being only us. A stillness.