It’s nippy at -12°C but the air is absolutely still with not a breath of movement. A nearly-full moon hangs high in a deep black sky, a sky so clean and crisp that Orion, the hunter, stands majestic, unaffected by the brightness.
I’m out walking the grand-dog. We have no need for artificial light; the moonlight reflecting off a fresh snowfall is more than adequate to see by. We walk through patches of light and dark as the trees cast long, sharp shadows across the road. I know that deer, coyotes, and even wolves sometimes use this path at night, especially when the snow is deep, but we see no other living creature. Nor do we hear any. My footsteps crunching on the packed snow are the only sound; even the dog is silent as he pads along beside me.
It’s winter as city-dwellers never get to experience. And it’s truly magical.