North Boulder Creek

Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
                                                           — Robert Frost
Temperatures hovering in the teens, it would have been so easy to hunker down on the couch next to the stove.  As Shawnee looked at me, butt wriggling, I could see she was itching to go outside.  So ok, I’ll put on my long undies, my fleece, my down jacket and mittens.  And away we go.
As we walk along through the new snow, my boots crunch on the ground.  Other than that, the air is silent and the forest surrounding me is hushed.  We follow our familiar path down towards Boulder Creek, and momentarily I stop at a rock outcropping, admiring the pinkish color of the snow capped Indian Peaks.
Down, down, down the trail we go until we end up at the creek, frozen solid.  A glance up the creek is a scene straight from a winter wonderland — evergreens topped with snow, as their limbs bend downward.  Clouds, puffed up to look like cotton candy lingering overhead.  My breath forms puffs as I breathe in and out, and enjoy the sound of silence.
Winters can be hard here in Nederland especially when the wind blows, as is often the case during winter.  It’s also tough when we endure cold snaps such as earlier this week, and temperatures sink down to 15 below or more.
But it’s also a time to truly enjoy the quiet and serenity of wilderness in special way.  And you may get to have the entire forest, creek and views of the mountains all to yourself.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.