I was trudging along through the forest. My snow boots were wet from slush, and my fingers frozen to my camera. My cheeks, ears and nose, so cold they stung. Wind bit my neck as it passed through my wool scarf.
I walked up to a clearing, steadying myself as a harsh wind blew by, that almost knocked me to my feet.
“Here at last,” I sighed, as soon as my battle to stand was over.
I slowly unhooked my left hand from the cold, metal camera and gazed at the breathtaking sight ahead.
The winter’s snow blanketed the ground and trees, making them sparkle when the sun hit the tiny snowflakes. The fresh scent of evergreens and pines filled my nostrils, with an intoxicating aroma. The small brook had frozen over, making a slippery trap for those who dared to cross.
With my free hand, I pulled off my sunglasses, which covered my eyes from the hazardous, blinding, white snow. I pulled my camera up to my face and peered through the tiny lens.
“Perfection,” I whispered. “Mother nature has yet to fail me.”
I curled my pointer finger around the button at the top of my camera and snapped pictures of the beautiful and mystical landscape.
After thirty snapshots of the great out doors, I headed back to my cabin, miles and miles from my secret clearing.
“I’ll be back,” I said to myself. “As soon as the birds begin to sing again, leaves grow back on the trees, and the snow melts. I’ll be back for my spring pictures.