Thanks, Steve. On the six inch snow day, the pines were shrouded in snow. It was completely still. Then, about half way through my pipe, gentle kisses of a hint of breeze would tustle the crop of a tree, shaking loose its shroud, which cascaded down sending plump sheets of billowing snow whoomping to the ground to break the silence, which washed in again until the next tree lifted it’s head in the breeze. Grin. It was delightful to be amidst the whoomping giants, but not under them (that happened too, on the trail. Grin.)!
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