My weekend was delightful, and somewhat sentimental, although I am going to start with a little of background. I have been taking three to four trips to Vermont per year for the 23 years that I’ve been alive, making at least 70 trips to the northern land. I am border lined obsessed with the place (I LoVermont, as my cousin may say). It is a bit strange, but I like to consider myself a Vermonter that has never lived in Vermont.
I love the mountains.
I love the pine trees.
I love the stars.
I love the smell of the air.
I love the smell of the houses that have absorbed the scent of wood burning in the stoves.
I love the green license plates.
I love the eccentricity of the people.
This weekend we had a bit of snow in Pittsburgh, a couple of inches worth on the ground, that started coming down on Friday evening. As I was walking home on the stilled streets on Friday, I was haulted by the sound of the snow falling. Have you ever listened to it fall? It is such a beautiful sound, perhaps one of my favorites and surely one of the most nostalgic. It reminds me of our family ski trips to Vermont, when I would sit at the peak strapping on my snowboard's bindings as the rest of my family headed down the slope on their skis and listen to the silence. I love those moments of silence, pierced by the sound of skis carving through the snow.
|These are pictures I took in VT, at Bolton Valley.|
My day is filled with so much noise that I have come to treasure silence. What are you favorite sounds of the seasons? I have too many to share.