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Standing in the eerie silence of a backyard I realize how beautiful Nature is. I look around and it seems like I'm up north: the scenery around me and the bumpy white sheet of snow goes on and on for miles. The Kodak color view is turned into a black and white picture by the snow. To the left, the woods, once lush and green, are now stark and bare. The willow branches hang down like a lady bowing her head towards the earth.

The river, once blocked by the fully-leafed trees, is now visible through their skeletons. The volleyball court is now concealed under the snow; only the poles that once supported the net are showing. As I walk downhill toward the river, I see the fire pit surrounded by log seats resembling mushrooms with white snow caps. As I remember the smells of the roaring bonfires that welcomed us this past summer, a chill makes me wish this cold abandoned barrel could warm me now.

As I approach the bank of the river, it looks black and cold, with chunks of ice floating like an arctic armada. There are no cranes standing in the warm green shallows, like I saw in August. The bald eagle is probably huddled in its nest trying to keep warm. There are no birds chirping or crows cawing, like a few months ago. Not even the dogs are barking. Where are all the animals? There are no honking geese; they have flown south for the winter. I know the deer are still here, for their tracks crisscross the yard like a hounds-tooth check. Mixed in with the deer tracks are turkey tracks. I can hear their gobbles off in the distant of the woods, sounding like a child's noisemaker. The picnic table we ate at is covered with snow. The adirondack chairs we fished from have cushions of cold white fluffy snow, and are not as inviting as they were when it was eighty degrees outside. The summer breeze through the trees was refreshing; now, the wind through the leafless trees is bleak, yet still so beautiful and relaxing.

Dried grapevines hang from the oak tree; the tiny sour grapes we ate are gone. Birds and squirrels have had their fill. The boat and the canoe look like miniature mountains covered with snow. As I walk away from the impressive scenery I stop and look back at my footprints winding through the snow. I have to remind myself that I am not up north, but in my sister's back yard, on the banks of the Tittabawassee River.