645 Over the Hill

Another blast from the past...
I finished working on my Performance Measurement Publication for the Canadian Meteorological and Oceanographic Society, CMOS and decided to catch the last rays of sunset on the front hill. The family Chesapeake and I headed up the hill and I started to paint the shadows and colours across the untouched, pristine blanket of snowsquall snow. The dog didn't waste any time tracking it up and before I knew it, the hill was a tangle of tracks and colours. It was too late to move to a new site so I painted what I saw until it got dark. The paints were freezing and so was I. The Chessy had a blast digging in the grasses for mice. When I was almost done, a sharp-shinned hawk cruised over the line of spruce trees and the next thing, a dozen or more birds scattered from the feeders behind the house like the blast from an explosion. I do not know if the hawk was successful in catching its supper.
The title is because the line of white spruce disappear over the hill along with the shadows and the grasses. It is also a phrase I use a lot when I don't know how far it is to our destination. I always say that it is "just over the next hill". Usually it is much farther.
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