Bob Paterson
Snowball Fight
My sons are plodding through knee-deep snow under a winter moon’s glazed night shadows. It is cold and blustery: a seven-degree evening.
Earlier I tried to cancel – due to inclement weather – this promised walk on a trail close to our home in Silver Bay, Minnesota. My cancellation announcement only received rather unpleasant whines and accusations of “You promised.”
Despite my explanation about what the weather was dishing out, I soon found the boys dressed in full winter armor – coats, boots, long underwear, mittens, face masks, scarves and, of course, their snowboard.
Along the sidewalk on the way to the trailhead, we encounter a couple of two-foot drifts that soon engulf the laughing youngsters as they push their way through the snow mounds. A gust of wind sweeps a swirl of sparkling winter powder into our faces. When we step among the trees at the trailhead, the wind stops, and we find ourselves in quiet, wintery seclusion. The light cast from the almost-full moon leaves a bright bluish glaze over everything that it touches. Shadows cast by the trees, bushes and rocks drape the pure white landscape like purple ball gowns.
Bob Paterson
Snow-Covered Trees
The silence and beauty hold us for a minute or two. Struggling along in snow, our conversation turns to animals in the winter. Someone suggests that if we are quiet, we might see something. Tracks are everywhere. Deer and fox tracks dominate, clearly distinguishable in the moonlight.
Then a howl silences the boys. They quickly run back to my side and ask if it was a wolf.
“That was only a dog,” I say.
They asked me how I know. I tell them that because the howl came from the direction of town, it most likely was just a dog.
My answer calms them, and we continue along the trail. Soon they tire and stop every 50 feet or so. Whenever we stop, winter blankets us. Our labored breathing is the only conversation.
At a large rock outcropping high above Silver Bay, we stop for a rest. Would they mind, I ask the boys, if I quickly hike to the top? Permission granted, and I work my way through a heavily wooded maze up onto the cleared outcropping. I turn east toward Silver Bay and Lake Superior. I did not expect this spectacular sight.
The moon sparkles like golden glitter off the lake. I stay only a short time, but the moment forever paints a picture on the natural canvas of my mind and heart.
I whoop as I crash my way back to the boys below on the trail. I try to explain to them as we march along about the beauty God’s hand is providing us tonight.
The boys had been sharing the responsibility of pulling their snowboard. Now it’s becoming a burden. I don’t want anything to distract from positive memories of this special evening, so I volunteer to carry the board.
We finally come to the end of the wooded trail and to the inspiration for carrying the snowboard: a long, steep-sloping hill. The reinvigorated boys take turns sliding, winding and falling down a groomed portion of the trail. They fill the winter silence with giggles and, soon, a call of “Let’s go home.”
We leave the protective trees and the blustery wind again nips at us. But the wind doesn’t change our mood. We race each other down the street on our way home with glad hearts and happy memories of a moonlit winter night near Lake Superior.
Dave Oltman resides with his family in Silver Bay, Minnesota.