When the snow falls just right, with enough heft to coat the branches but not enough to break them, something like an outdoor hallway is revealed. I’ve come upon them in many places – the library walkway, Buckmanville Road in New Hope, and Prescott Park in Portsmouth. But none were quite as magical as the ones a few miles up Birch Hill Road in New Durham. Dirt roads leading to the summer cabins on Chalk and March ponds, abandoned in Winter, were natural cathedrals when adorned in white. I spent many hours walking in these sacred spaces, and am much richer for it.

Healing, justice, love. A song, a branch, and a path. If I approached them with the same reverence as a snow-created wonder, surely the world and I would be much the richer for it.