Crunch

This past week the snow diminished several inches and a hard silver glaze made walking possible across the top of the snow, but only with snow shoes. I never tire of the crunch, crunch sound my shoes make as I skim the top of the snow cover. As I child I used to delight in finding hollow pockets of ice, formed by puddles frozen over – and the sound of the thin ice breaking under my boots. No harm done, there was no water to fall into beneath, just dry cold road.