The snow is so thick and heavy that the woods are all arches and gates.
The low bushes reach across the path towards each other. I push the branches aside, and pass through them, snow clinging to my coat and pants, falling into my boots. They close behind me.
One of the pine trees I planted two years ago is bent so the top of it touches the ground. I release it, brushing off three inches of piled snow and it bounces up and down and up again.