Guest post from: Denver Stephens
My husband and I prepare for the first snow of the season every year, boots, scarves, jackets and mittens, all set to don. Since retired, we have been lucky enough to be together and watch the gray skies though the picture window, sipping wine, until the first flakes fall. There is a wooded path nearby and we anxiously head out to walk its mile and half to the end where the busy road interrupts, and head back. By this time, the trees have been coated in their white cotton cloth, and the sounds of the forest on the east side are muffled in the new acoustics the covering affords. It's a solitude that can only be appreciated when two people who think much the same way share the beauty of nature wrapped once again in its unspotted winter coat. We look back now and again to see our footprints in the path behind, a symbol of the path we have shared through our lives. Our silence is usually broken by one of us mentioning that we need to hurry the last 100 yards or so not to miss the Satellite TV Deals show we planned to watch with our remaining Merlot.
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