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I could learn to like it there

Published: Thursday, May 1st, 2014

My first glance through the picture window on a recent Saturday morning took my breath away.
The howling wind that had accompanied a gray, bone-chilling Friday had created a never-ending roar through the pine trees, somewhat akin to the sound of the motorcycles in town in August. But on this morning the wind was gone. There was not even a hint of a breeze.
I stood at the window, probably with mouth agape, at the beauty that lay before me on the other side of the glass.
It was what one of those tiny snow globes looks like before one shakes it to make the make-believe snow swirl around.
Two inches of snow had fallen overnight and it clung to the top of the railings around the deck and to the top of the picnic table.  Out back it too had accumulated in similar fashion atop my car. But with no wind to stir it, it had remained and still at dawn's early light lay untouched, neither by human hands nor Nature's.
The tall pine trees stood rigid, accepting the still-falling flakes into their bosoms. Flake by flake, the snow continued to flutter—not fall—from out of the gray overcast. Oh so silently it came down and kept coming.
This was not the view I usually get when I look out a window early each morning. On a normal day all I can see out my bedroom window are houses and commuters’ vehicles. But on this particular weekend I was on dog-sitting duty, caring for not one, not two, but six pups for my daughter’s in-laws at their log-cabin home deep in the Hills a dozen miles or so west of Rapid City while they were away for the weekend.
Thus this unaccustomed view of Nature’s winter at its best came as a shock. I realized that morning why many people choose to live in such a not-quite-isolated but still out-of-town locale.  Vistas like this are theirs on a daily basis!
The instructions left by George and Kathy called for taking the dogs for their morning walk. On that previous morning both the dogs and I decided the walk would be a short one amidst the northwest gale. The two older dogs who spend their nights in the garage and the four “weiner dogs” who get the run of the house mutually agreed to scurry back to the house once they had done their business and were ready for breakfast.

My first glance through the picture window on a recent Saturday morning took my breath away.

The howling wind that had accompanied a gray, bone-chilling Friday had created a never-ending roar through the pine trees, somewhat akin to the sound of the motorcycles in town in August. But on this morning the wind was gone. There was not even a hint of a breeze.

I stood at the window, probably with mouth agape, at the beauty that lay before me on the other side of the glass.

It was what one of those tiny snow globes looks like before one shakes it to make the make-believe snow swirl around.

Two inches of snow had fallen overnight and it clung to the top of the railings around the deck and to the top of the picnic table.  Out back it too had accumulated in similar fashion atop my car. But with no wind to stir it, it had remained and still at dawn's early light lay untouched, neither by human hands nor Nature's.

The tall pine trees stood rigid, accepting the still-falling flakes into their bosoms. Flake by flake, the snow continued to flutter—not fall—from out of the gray overcast. Oh so silently it came down and kept coming.

This was not the view I usually get when I look out a window early each morning. On a normal day all I can see out my bedroom window are houses and commuters’ vehicles. But on this particular weekend I was on dog-sitting duty, caring for not one, not two, but six pups for my daughter’s in-laws at their log-cabin home deep in the Hills a dozen miles or so west of Rapid City while they were away for the weekend.

Thus this unaccustomed view of Nature’s winter at its best came as a shock. I realized that morning why many people choose to live in such a not-quite-isolated but still out-of-town locale.  Vistas like this are theirs on a daily basis!

The instructions left by George and Kathy called for taking the dogs for their morning walk. On that previous morning both the dogs and I decided the walk would be a short one amidst the northwest gale. The two older dogs who spend their nights in the garage and the four “weiner dogs” who get the run of the house mutually agreed to scurry back to the house once they had done their business and were ready for breakfast.

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