Winter bears a certain elegance on her biting winds and driving snow that settles over the country- and cityscapes like a blanket of the finest cashmere. The irony of her beauty is that it also cuts to the bone if one is not careful. Fingers, hands, toes, noses all become painfully aware of her presence when exposed to the air.
Nonetheless, we stare in admiration of her finery through the tinted windows of cars and panes of glass, our noses and palms pressed against the insubstantial barrier separating us from the elements; sensing the chill but not really feeling it deep down in our flesh and souls until we are forced to cry, "Uncle."
This morning, frigid air made my very breath appear as smoke and delicate, fernlike ice crystals coated my car end-to-end. The comfort of the heated interior of my vehicle lessened the sting as I pressed my palm against the cold driver's-side window, Bob Dylan's, "Blood on the Tracks" blaring through the speakers.
The sun was up and as I left the city limits of a very small town, the countryside was dazzling to behold. Winter had gently blown across the plants and trees until every, single blade of grass sparkled with the light reflected off a million ice crystals. When the wind blew through the prairie grass so enameled, rainbows of color and splashes of white light sparkled and danced, hypnotic and fairy-like; altogether otherworldly.
I could not will my eyes away. Each bend in the road held a new vision that I knew would evaporate as soon as the sun's rays became intense enough to melt the frosty glaze, leaving behind the dessicated brownness of plants gone dormant.
Cresting a hillock, I spotted a large bird of prey perched atop a fencepost in the distance. Perhaps the eagle had moved upcountry. As I slowed to pass, I realized it was a snowy owl. His eyes tracked the car as I passed, his immense, round face magnificent backlit by the rising sun. His plumage, the tone of bleached summer linen, speckled here and there with greyish-brown feathers stood in stark contrast to the lilac and periwinkle tones of the cloudless morning sky.
As the iced-over grasses flaunted their diamond-like finery in the sunlight, I drove on until the owl was merely a speck in my rearview mirror. The fields were already browning as the ice melted and I pondered turning around and spending as much time as I could in the company of the snowy owl. Perhaps he would grace me with another moment tomorrow morning. Hopeful I will see him again, I will leave a little earlier and stop completely this time. Perhaps, perhaps he will be there...I hope...I hope.
