Winter’s Invitation
Three chairs rest by water wide,
wrapped in snow, side by side.
The lake is dark, the air is cold,
as dusk spills light in threads of gold.
Mountains rise with shrouded peaks,
the wind is hushed, the silence speaks.
A whispered call, a fleeting glow,
as shadows dance upon the snow.
Who will sit and watch the waves,
where fading light and silence stays?
Who will wait and who will roam,
when winter calls the weary home?
The world stands still, the sky turns deep,
soft white footprints start to sleep.
Three chairs rest, untouched, alone—
an open seat, a place unknown.
Yesterday, I stood on the snowy shore of Lake Crescent, my breath curling in the cold air, my camera heavy in my hands. The lake stretched out before me, dark and quiet, framed by mountains dusted in fresh snow. Thick clouds hung low over the peaks, but just beyond them, a sliver of golden light broke through—soft, fleeting, almost hesitant.
Three Adirondack chairs sat there, empty and waiting, their wooden arms piled with snow. I was drawn to them, to the way they faced the water, as if they had been abandoned mid-conversation, left to listen to winter’s silence. The scene felt both peaceful and a little lonely, like a moment caught between seasons, between storms, between stories.
I took my time composing the shot, trying to capture that quiet invitation, that sense of stillness. But as I stood there, I could feel the cold settling into my bones, a reminder that I wasn’t fully recovered. I had already been feeling drained, and by the time I got home, my cold had come roaring back with a vengeance. Maybe I made a mistake pushing myself too much yesterday. Maybe I should have stayed inside, rested, let my body heal.
But standing there, with the lake stretching wide and the wind whispering through the trees, I felt something I hadn’t felt in days—calm. Even now, as I sit here wrapped in blankets, coughing and exhausted, I can still see those three chairs waiting by the water’s edge, untouched, unbothered.
And somehow, that makes it worth it.
