Listening to winter...
by Joseph Cardillo

Picture this. A woman (or man) awakens. It is a small, actually tiny, mountain town in upstate New York and it has mostly been built up around a mid-sized mountain lake. The majority of the area is lightly forested and the gun-metal light of December puts a steely sheen on everything. It has snowed early this season, and there are about three inches of old snow and ice on the ground—a few squatty snow banks. It is an especially cold morning. The woman dresses in sweats and a warm woolen hat and heads out for an early morning jog. A light rain misted the trees and power lines over night and when the rain ended, everything went into a deep freeze. Now all is glistening as if everything were made of crystal. It’s magical, she thinks. And when she has this thought, something warms inside her. She feels this and when she does, she thinks there is something mysterious that occurs in such environments and moments. This mystery, she is beginning to believe, has a profound effect on her.