Snow lines every bare branch, making it sparkle- stark, yet lovely. Most winters I know are grey, but here the sky is blue. This place is transformed from how I knew it in the summer, when the limbs and leaves were like delicate ink strokes running across the sunset, shivering in the breeze. I must get reacquainted. There is the path I followed to the Chapel, which is now hung with icicles. And over there is the ice rink that was once a carpet of grass and daisies. How the world has changed!