Take me to snow

We like our place where everything can be still, and sounds are few.
It is near and frequently visited.
With the cold, standing still is calming, moving about creates the shudder and vibration of textured snow being displaced by our boots of multiple shapes and sizes.
The snowshoes dive deeper into the drifts than one would hope.
They get pulled along, leaving oval depressions much larger than the nearby rabbit tracks.
Our exhaled breath lingers like a smoky haze, as it floats constant and long.
The wind is gone, and the tree limbs are capped with an insulating layer.
The wood burns fast and true, creating a bowl shape of shiny precipitation.
The melting crystals are close, and the steam rises quietly.
The only sounds heard, emanate from the blazing orange circular glow.
Our unique breakfast is met with the adversity of utensil issues in our gloved and mitten clad hands.
A spoon slides away to the deep, only to be found in the moist springtime pine needles after many cold, lonely days and nights.
The special wintery french toast meal ends, and the return trek begins.
We pass our tracks and the tracks of those that will remain in these deep woods as the day progresses and dusk settles in.