Snowballs

Larry and I took a brief drive out of town on a recent Sunday afternoon. I expected it to be a rather ordinary little drive, one that we've taken time and time again, but what we encountered was far from ordinary.  Our drive took us to a winter wonderland.   It was only a few days after our big pre-Christmas blizzard.  The evergreen trees were flocked with thick, white snow.  The silhouettes of the deciduous trees were barely visible in their generous cloaks of white.  Some of the tree branches were surprisingly decorated with snowballs, the same size that we used to make in mitten-covered hands as kids.  How did the snow land in just that fashion on tree after tree without falling off, I wondered. Snow covered the roof of a round (probably octagonal) barn and stuck to the side of silos.  A hawk flew majestically over our heads while hundreds of little black-silhouetted birds (starlings, perhaps) sat high up in three trees positioned close together.  The sun was setting as we returned home.  The western horizon was a stunning gradation of gold and yellow and blue and gray.  I counted my blessings for all of the beauty we were fortunate to witness that not-so-ordinary, snowy, wintery afternoon.