As you may have seen in the last Nyssa’s Nuggets, I added Cedar, an Australian Shepherd puppy to my pack.

Since then, Wicket, a Bernaussie puppy, has arrived. Wicket is 3.5 weeks younger than Cedar, and a complete love. He got the Bernese personality and coloring, but with a natural bobtail that gives him a perfect Ewok bum—hence the name, Wicket.

There isn’t much height difference between the two of them now, but Cedar is ten pounds heavier than Wicket. Cedar is a beast, built like a fire hydrant—all muscle and bone. He is also as fiery as his coat and his Leo birthday… He is and will be a handful, for sure.

Needless to say, things have gone a bit wonky here as far as any schedule goes. Eleanorah hasn’t left for less chaotic locales, yet, in fact she has been honing some writing skills and has managed to get another random scene on the page.

She apologizes for the absence in the story and is eager to get back to it, pronto! Thank you for your patience, here’s hoping all is well with all of you at this whirlwind time of year even if we weren’t dealing with a resurging pandemic.

Happy Thanksgiving to all of my fellow Americans. Be on the lookout for an episode from Huphaea very soon! I’m sure you will be able to follow the puppies’ growth with Nyssa’s Nuggets, she will be an integral tutor in their education.

Talk to you soon! Elements be!~

I belong to a local writing group here in town. This is my second session with this set of ladies for Tuesday morning Zoom meetings. I wasn’t sure how I would do with it when I began, but knowing my desire is to have people read my novel, it seemed a logical place to start. Some months later, I really enjoy myself and am often surprised at the composition I come up with. I thought I would share this one with you just for the sake of sharing. Let me know what you think of it.~

It snowed on Friday. I’d say about five inches fell here, since it went on longer than it was forecast to. Did that surprise me? Not really, considering two days earlier it rained all day and it was supposed to be the best day of the week. But we are New Englanders, we take what comes and commence bitching about the weatherpeople like champs. Oh well.

The snow didn’t bother me, as it appeared to for many of my close comrades. My dog Nyssa waits six months for that cold, white stuff to fall and she is in her glory, stretching out her full length to get as much of it on her as possible. She spends hours outside in it, just laying there, or chasing Dash around, then she comes inside with a crusty snow blanket on. It’s hard not to smile and laugh at her simple delight in something totally natural.

After the snow stopped falling, I took Nyssa for her afternoon walk. The sky was crystal clear blue then, the sun was out, and the world around me had that muffled feeling of being coated with a thick blanket. I took a picture of Nyssa trotting ahead of me down the path toward the woods, trees laden with a pristine frosting of white, and posted it on social media with the caption “The muffled silence of early snow is deafening.” In that moment, it truly was, and that was the very first thing that popped into my mind.

I thought about it for the duration of our walk. What is it about that first snowfall that is so unique? This one happened to come when many leaves are still on the trees, so the smaller saplings groaned under the unwelcome weight, bending down to ask the earth for more support, it seemed. It closed in the canopy above us, making the forest into a tent instead of an amphitheater. An air of suspense hung all around as the arched saplings threatened to dump their cargo down my back if I should disturb them and set them free.  

We padded on along the snowed-in path, Nyssa’s feet making no noise, while mine churned out that grunting sound that compressed snow makes. No birds sang, no melting clumps plopped into the sea of white below, nothing moved or sounded except us. It was mesmerizing.

It may be an oxymoron to say the silence is deafening, or even that silence has a sound, but both are true. The air on that new snowy afternoon had a presence that only happens in that situation. It took up all of the space that was allowed by the drooping branches, fountains of encased leaves, and the space in my jacket hood. My ears felt attuned, on edge even, straining to hear something, anything, but there wasn’t any discernable sound there. And that was a sound in itself. It made me aware of everything I would normally hear on this walk for all of its absence.

Then I also thought, what of the other senses could this happen with? Not smell, or taste. Those are pretty absolute. Sight? I would argue yes, that’s what we as writers try to do, create something with words that isn’t seen with the eyes so much. And perhaps even touch, as it is possible to feel something that is not, or feel something in its absence.

Nyssa and I finished our walk and the awe still held. Perhaps I was dreaming and we were walking in some New England-wide snow globe on an alien’s shelf that they shook up for the first time in months just for giggles. Either way, the new snow silence held my attention for that stretch of hours last Friday, and it is something I look forward to after snowstorms. Wrapped in a thick white muffler, the land holds its breath and the sound of the silence is truly deafening.~

Have you ever heard that kind of silence? Are there other experiences that give you that kind of feeling? Comment below and let me know, I’d love to know.