There is no need to be concerned about snow in September” we were told as we began to pack and prepare for a trip to Austria. The travel sites said it wouldn’t come until later in the year, except perhaps on the highest peaks. Yet even as we drove from the Slovenian foothills into the Austrian Alps, rain turned to flurries and flurries turned to snow. Signs warned we ought to stick to the valleys and avoid the high passes. By the time we reached our destination, inches had fallen, blanketing the world in dazzling white.
The next morning I put on several layers of warm-weather clothing and went for a walk by myself. The world was pristine, the ground untouched by footsteps or tracks. The peaks that tower over the town were obscured by the clouds and by the flakes that continued to fall down and pile up. Every tree was coated in snow, almost as if God had told them to don their winter attire. Trees are beautiful in their own right, of course, but there is something about that snow that makes them more beautiful still.
I found a marker
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