I Love The Sound Of Crunching Snow

   There is something about the sound of crunching frozen snow that is music to my ears.

   The cadence of wry-ate, crench, wry-ate, crench, wry-ate, crench, wry-ate, crench, wry-ate, crench, wry-ate, crench as I walk heel-toe along a frozen, snow-covered path in heavy insulated boots seems to echo all around me, reminding me of a time and place more than thirty years past.

   Growing up in San Diego, snow was pretty much a non-entity for me, so in my mid-twenties when I lived in Anchorage, Alaska, walking through the snow was something I did with an absurd amount of pleasure.

   I somewhat reveled in it then, and pretty much still do.