"Winterscape" ((Image & Text Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
The world had been remade overnight.
Snow lay heavy on the branches, bending them in arcs like reverent bows. The trunks of the oaks and maples rose in stark, dark columns—black ink strokes against the untouched white of early morning. It was the day after Thanksgiving, and the forest seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for the first true light.
The old man—or simply the man, for age felt irrelevant to the quiet joy in his heart—walked slowly along the familiar path. His boots made a soft huff with each step, snow puffing up gently like flour on a baker’s board. He stopped once to listen. Really listen. In this deep, muffled world, even silence had texture.
A flicker of movement to his left. A deer stood between the trees, her breath rising in soft little clouds. She looked at him calmly, knowingly, as if she recognized something of her own gentle spirit reflected in the two-legged figure who walked the woods with no hurry and no fear.
“Good morning,” he whispered, because it felt right to greet another creature on such a blessed morning.
The deer blinked, turned, and stepped away with the grace of falling snow.
A moment later, from the other side of the trail, came the soft, padded sound of paws. The man looked up—and there, standing still and steady as a shadow, was a wolf. A full-grown one, gray-mottled, with intelligent eyes that held neither menace nor alarm. Only recognition. Companionship, even.
The wolf lowered its head slightly, as if in greeting.
“Well,” the man said quietly, “aren’t you a handsome fellow.”
They regarded each other for a long, quiet moment. Then the wolf moved on, slipping between the trees like a whisper of winter itself.
The man continued his walk, his heart lighter, his breath warmer. A sudden caw shattered the silence. A large crow hopped along the branches above him, feathers puffed out against the cold. It tilted its head, observing him with blatant curiosity.
“Oh, so you again,” the man chuckled. “You’re nosy today.”
Caw! replied the crow, loud enough to startle a few flakes loose from the branches.
“I know, I know. I talk too much,” he said. “But someone’s got to keep the conversation going.”
The crow bounced from branch to branch beside him, a companionable, if opinionated, escort through the monochrome woods. The man’s laughter rose in a small puff of warm air, drifting into a morning that felt both magical and entirely real.
He walked on through the black-and-white world, held in its quiet spell, a place where deer regarded him gently, wolves walked without fear, and crows argued amiably from the treetops.
A warm, happy feeling filled his chest—something soft and alive, like gratitude itself.
* * * * * * * * * *
And then… the spell eased.
The forest faded—not gone, but settling back into that place where stories live when we are not in them. I blink, and I am once again in my wee cottage in the woods. Outside the window, dawn is struggling to rise, casting a faint pearl glow against the cold morning.
My mug of coffee sits before me, steaming as if offering up a blessing. The first sip is rich, warm, almost soulful. It feels like nourishment—yes, for the body, but even more for the spirit.
Ralph Vaughan Williams’ Songs of the Four Seasons: Winter drifts through the room, notes floating like crystalline air. Thanksgiving, just yesterday, lingers in my memory—feasting, family, laughter, the comfort of beloved faces. The memory is still warm, like an ember in the hearth of the heart.
A teaching from Dr. Wayne Dyer rises gently to mind:
“There are literally thousands of things to observe in every life-space moment if you retrain yourself…
If you do this often enough, it will become a habit--
a habit that will facilitate your being alive in every moment of the year.”
What a beautiful idea.
Not merely living in the moment…
but being alive in it.
There is a subtle difference—yet it is everything.
I take another sip of coffee.
I breathe in this quiet morning.
I let gratitude settle around me like snowfall.
I am alive in this moment.
And so, I start this new day.
* * * * * * * * * *
“The wonder of life is not found in great events,
but in the soft footsteps of each present moment.”
~Wylddane
Snow lay heavy on the branches, bending them in arcs like reverent bows. The trunks of the oaks and maples rose in stark, dark columns—black ink strokes against the untouched white of early morning. It was the day after Thanksgiving, and the forest seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for the first true light.
The old man—or simply the man, for age felt irrelevant to the quiet joy in his heart—walked slowly along the familiar path. His boots made a soft huff with each step, snow puffing up gently like flour on a baker’s board. He stopped once to listen. Really listen. In this deep, muffled world, even silence had texture.
A flicker of movement to his left. A deer stood between the trees, her breath rising in soft little clouds. She looked at him calmly, knowingly, as if she recognized something of her own gentle spirit reflected in the two-legged figure who walked the woods with no hurry and no fear.
“Good morning,” he whispered, because it felt right to greet another creature on such a blessed morning.
The deer blinked, turned, and stepped away with the grace of falling snow.
A moment later, from the other side of the trail, came the soft, padded sound of paws. The man looked up—and there, standing still and steady as a shadow, was a wolf. A full-grown one, gray-mottled, with intelligent eyes that held neither menace nor alarm. Only recognition. Companionship, even.
The wolf lowered its head slightly, as if in greeting.
“Well,” the man said quietly, “aren’t you a handsome fellow.”
They regarded each other for a long, quiet moment. Then the wolf moved on, slipping between the trees like a whisper of winter itself.
The man continued his walk, his heart lighter, his breath warmer. A sudden caw shattered the silence. A large crow hopped along the branches above him, feathers puffed out against the cold. It tilted its head, observing him with blatant curiosity.
“Oh, so you again,” the man chuckled. “You’re nosy today.”
Caw! replied the crow, loud enough to startle a few flakes loose from the branches.
“I know, I know. I talk too much,” he said. “But someone’s got to keep the conversation going.”
The crow bounced from branch to branch beside him, a companionable, if opinionated, escort through the monochrome woods. The man’s laughter rose in a small puff of warm air, drifting into a morning that felt both magical and entirely real.
He walked on through the black-and-white world, held in its quiet spell, a place where deer regarded him gently, wolves walked without fear, and crows argued amiably from the treetops.
A warm, happy feeling filled his chest—something soft and alive, like gratitude itself.
* * * * * * * * * *
And then… the spell eased.
The forest faded—not gone, but settling back into that place where stories live when we are not in them. I blink, and I am once again in my wee cottage in the woods. Outside the window, dawn is struggling to rise, casting a faint pearl glow against the cold morning.
My mug of coffee sits before me, steaming as if offering up a blessing. The first sip is rich, warm, almost soulful. It feels like nourishment—yes, for the body, but even more for the spirit.
Ralph Vaughan Williams’ Songs of the Four Seasons: Winter drifts through the room, notes floating like crystalline air. Thanksgiving, just yesterday, lingers in my memory—feasting, family, laughter, the comfort of beloved faces. The memory is still warm, like an ember in the hearth of the heart.
A teaching from Dr. Wayne Dyer rises gently to mind:
“There are literally thousands of things to observe in every life-space moment if you retrain yourself…
If you do this often enough, it will become a habit--
a habit that will facilitate your being alive in every moment of the year.”
What a beautiful idea.
Not merely living in the moment…
but being alive in it.
There is a subtle difference—yet it is everything.
I take another sip of coffee.
I breathe in this quiet morning.
I let gratitude settle around me like snowfall.
I am alive in this moment.
And so, I start this new day.
* * * * * * * * * *
“The wonder of life is not found in great events,
but in the soft footsteps of each present moment.”
~Wylddane
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