The reservoir behind my grandparents’ home was fed by numerous streams and creeks, but the Windsor Brook was my favorite. We had to cross over on a rickety wooden bridge to walk down May Road to get to the hidden pond where I was married.
The colors and patterning in these mittens remind me of scattered oak leaves on snowdrifts taller than I, and cold days spent snowmobiling and snowshoeing in the forest along that brook.