Imagine my delight, therefore, when I arrived at the trailhead for my morning commute to find that it had been transformed into a magical world of indescribable beauty and convenience.
The flag that once snapped stridently in gales now hangs in muted elegance, welcoming me to a smoothly sculpted arrangement of gently curving boulders.
The stone steps are coated with soft snow, inviting one to step onto the cosy trail that envelops one's feet in comfort.
So soft is each step, so silent the tread, that one can no longer even feel one's own feet.
Every turn in the trail reveals a doorway to a new discovery. Gracefully arched branches form a beautiful picture and then quickly pull one past them - revealing themselves to be simply a frame for the openness that lies beyond.
Benches dot the trail for those who are so overcome by the beauty of the experience that they can proceed no further. There they sit, huddled figures with awe in their dazed eyes. Their sense of mortality temporarily suspended by the magic around them.
But one cannot sit there for long. For the majesty of the trail beckons. One is drawn onward, ever onward, by the hint of what lies next.
Before long the buttockal evidence of those who reclined in awe is covered softly, so gently, by the pillowy wisps of snow that serve the trail.
It would be a mistake to think that the trail is a quiet place that embraces one in its solitude. While the snow gently enfolds the trail in peace, it is not a silence devoid of life.
The trail attracts all who strive for release and freedom. A place where contemplation is as natural as frolicking; a cocoon that contains a world of carefree innocence.
This is a place of living beauty, but it is also a place that celebrates the artistry of the cycle of birth and re-birth. Discarded branches are transformed into an impromptu sculpture that celebrates the life-giving power of the trees from which they have fallen.
A bough of feathered green is dusted with a delicate coat that calls to the traveler with a promise. "Pass under me and I will enshroud you with powdered clouds of swirling crystals."
And so coated one rounds the curve onto the sturdy bridge. A reminder that no matter how perfect this world seems, it is grounded in reality. The bridge gently connects the surreal world of the trail with the well trodden path beyond. The transition is marked with a small light of hope and cheer.
And here the trail yields to the lighted pathway - no less beautiful and certainly as welcoming, but in a formal, grand manner. Marsh and field breaking through the blanket of white, demonstrating the strength and will of the path, in contrast to the whimsical trail.
And there the path ends. The office, which once seemed like a safe haven, now looms behind an emergency unit. The atmosphere is fraught. The threat of the interior hangs heavily in the crisp air. Soon I will enter this place and leave behind the magic of the trail - I will enter the warm, dry interior and wistfully think about the delightful crisp, wet, cold of the trail...
