It must have started snowing at the break of dawn, for by the time we awoke there was already a pristine white dusting on the cars and streets. Looking out of the window, I could see that this was the perfect snowfall – slow, calm, windless, and peaceful – more picturesque than powerful. Ideal for a holiday walk through the city of Boston. Bundled up in scarves and hats, Kira and I stepped outside. I had a loose idea of where we were headed, and the first stop was a quick stroll through the Boston Public Garden.
Most of the time I’ve spent in the Public Garden has been during the sunnier months, and on the sunnier days. It is decidedly less magical in the pouring rain and blowing wind. On this morning, however, conditions were holiday-postcard-worthy. A little snowfall lends a lot of enchantment, and on this barely-snowy day it was a treat to see the Garden in its pre-winter light.
There’s something about snowfall and willow trees that speaks to the heart of beauty. With or without leaves.
The gnarled trunks of elderly trees give off an other-worldly glow, their architecture highlighted by the bright layer of snow. The pond, not yet drained or frozen over, still provides a home to various waterfowl. We are never quite alone in the Garden.
At the edge of the pond, where the three states of water meet and co-mingle, a reflection of the city I so love.
This is the sort of snowfall that I like best, and even Kira, in her sockless flats, admits it makes a beautiful scene. We huddle close and traipse along the winding path that will lead us to Charles Street, to a Tibetan store that I know carries the warmest pairs of woolen gloves and mittens (because it must get frigid in Tibet).
As we exit the iron gates of the Garden and cross the street to Beacon Hill, it feels like we’ve gone back to two turns of the century ago. I just wish I’d thought to bring my bustle.
