I must say growing up in rural NY was the happiest time of my life, especially in the little town of Naumburg. Our house was the last one just before the Castorland bridge. The Beaver River and Black River met at the bridge. Both are old slow moving rivers. In the summer, Dad and I would take the little flat bottom row boat with the 2 hp putput motor and troll up and down the rivers fishing for walleyes and northern pikes. It was peaceful out on the river with Dad. Mud swallows flew in and out of their nests bored in the sides of the mud river banks. Water lilies graced the edges of the river, good places to catch a fish. Frogs croaked and water spiders skidded across the surface leaving tiny wakes in their paths.

Out on the river Dad and I didn't talk much. It was those times that he didn't tease but gave praise when he let me take the throttle and steer the row boat or when I landed a big fish. I felt proud at the age of 10 years that he was happy with my steering or catching a big northern pike.

Springtime the rivers would swell with the melting snow and ice and spill out onto the flats. Sometimes the water reached our house. Northern NY had lots of snow. Snow banks and snow drifts would be 8 or more feet high. Snow in the country is clean, white and sparkly. The trees covered in ice glimmered in the sunlight and moonlight when the moon was so bright lighting up the fields. The world is peaceful after a snowfall. It covers everything, making everything equal under its white blanket that muffles sounds. The call of birds becomes even more musical and clear in the solemn silence. The world after a snow fall always makes me humble and feel the spiritual presence of oneness.

I now live in NYC and tonight a snow storm may cover the city in 8 inches of snow. And even in the city that same spiritual peace envelopes everything for several hours before the demand of getting around takes over.

Peace to everyone for now.