This morning I walked in a world of white. It seemed as if overnight my enclave became a tunnel of grey and white. The little snow we had was wet and sticky, transforming every tree, branch and twig into white be-decked fairies. Even the silken strand of a misguided insect that came out during last week’s heat was clothed in the crystals of snow

It was quiet, as I walked through the tunnels left by saplings bending over the trail. At times I twisted, stooped and almost crawled to avoid shedding snow onto my back. As I reached the river, I could see the water reflecting the silvery gray of the morning sky. Even the waterfall seemed to have hushed in this moment of winter’s return. Though in reality, it has already retreated in volume to almost early summer levels. At another bend in the river where the water runs slow and almost still, the reflections of the opposite bank looked up at me in reverse. I could see the dark underside of the bank, where water has cut under the roots and soil, then the whiteness of snow, then the green and white filigree of the evergreens, then the grey of the sky. In silence I looked at this underworld, a world at my feet, wondering how to get in. Is it the world of Hades, the world in which Persephone descended to re-emerge when her mother Demeter brought her back? It seemed so alluring and peaceful, looking into that still reflection. Why do we fear that altered space? It reminded me of the pull of the sirens years ago when I stood high on a cliff off the rocky shores of Maine. I could have jumped to land in the beauty of the surf and rock below.