BROWN HOLLOW, Early Winter
On the drive to Brown Hollow after Thanksgiving, the trees are bare. On the eastern slopes there is a light cover of snow on the forest floor. It is a world of sepias, umbers, some burnt sienna. The sun has burned the snow off the western slopes. Below the grey sky it is a scene worthy of Andrew Wyeth. We had hoped the snow would still be on the ground at Brown Hollow but it was gone when we got to the gate.
I had intended to burn some of the cedars downed during the summer while clearing a glade. Snow on the ground would prevent the fire from spreading into the woods. No chance of the fire spreading on this day: the snow had changed to a cold slow rain with a little ice in it. In spite of the wet, some of the cedar piles, the ones that had gone brown, burned.
Without the hunters of two weeks back, the woods were silent. Maybe it is a derangement to enjoy being out in a cold drizzle with no purpose other than to enjoy the silence of the Ozark winter.
