snowflakes

Could they be more magnificent, really?

I thought the weather worthy of an entire snow day here, even if the schools and my work did not, and even if the snow never started until afternoon. In the morning, we took out scissors and paper and cut all varieties of snowflakes, and they now hang from ceilings and on windows.

It finally did snow, of course. Normally, winter is not welcome around my house. This would not be evident to anyone who perused the list of places I have lived; they are not the warmer locales I swore I would inhabit in my adult life. I have found myself drawn by people, occupations in the colder regions, so here I am. And despite the grumbling we all seem to do, once in a while nature dumps a beauty.

True enough, the wind outside is fierce now. Walking downtown with the snow blowing in my face, I watched the plows redefine the tundra. A woman asked me for a light. I didn’t have one, but we both noted our outings on such a rare night. Walks shoveled earlier in vain, all efforts now are covered by drifts. Still, it is lovely, the low sky with the street lights bouncing off it.

Inside, I love feeling how cold I really am. I love the yellow light drawing me into the warmth. The snowflakes are still on the windows, hanging, and a snowman stands in the yard, growing shorter all the time.

Before the snow, I frantically dashed out to the store for sidewalk salt. Oh, it was a foolish thing, going out there with everyone else. I expected the crabby rush, but instead found smiles and laughing. No, not from kids: from adults playing hooky for an early weekend or an excuse to stay home before holidays, perhaps, or maybe just a kid-like excitement, knowing that tomorrow there is no school.

There may be plenty of snowflakes on windows by now, cookies baking, snowmen and glowing faces, like a song. The songs in this season hope for so much, though, and so much seems so far away for so many this time of year, as memories and wishes defy the ideal.

A friend suggests that we were meant to greet winter quietly, drawing in and seeking comfort. This year, winter wins. We are inside, stalled, grounded, and that seems just right. Snowflakes cover the season and make it something new, something unexpected, something utterly, unavoidably here, undeniably ours.

so much for spring …

Now, finding fresh snow, I’m not sure I was ready for a new season, anyway. In fact, the snow is lovely, the day sublime.

This afternoon, I walk in newly cleared streets, not so cold, the old piles of snow that lingered through last week’s warmth new again, covered in softness. The sky is white, the world is white again, cushioned by the pale, puffed snow.

I like this, like this layered lightness, blurry at first glance, but distinct on closer inspection. Scents layer upon the clean slate: wood fires and restaurants. Sounds of the street are muffled, but only slightly, still fading faster.

I need this moment, one more moment, before spring. I need icicles and sweaters and just once more.