I took the kids to school. I came home, skipped in my kitchen and let out a big "wahoooo!" because I was alone. Then, through the quiet, I started to write...
Snow falling falling falling like bits of sugared lace, whitening my world and warming my soul. Snow tickles my heart and makes me jump with glee. It makes me want to sing. Cold gray days are some of my very favorites (yes, even when I’m out in them). I just took the kids to school and luxuriated in my warm, dry car interior while Mother Nature whipped it all around outside. Cocoon-like in our warmth. Cozy, safe, together. The soundlessness of snow lulls me into a winter trance, wishing that it keeps dumping the white stuff so I can stay transfixed in my winter coma. Delight in the cold, frigid climate. Delicate snowflakes, falling, drifting, cavorting through the air. “We’re here!” they seem to say. They have a quiet confidence I find admirable. Each falling haphazardly yet with intention. The grace of the snow, the chill of the air, the warmth of my home echoing in a harmonic beat. When each of these events align, I am home. Exactly where I should be. Taking in the amazing wonder that the weather delivered to me that day.
The red fire hydrant standing proudly in the white fluff. The trees, ahh the trees, always stoic, always tall. Noble in their strong winter pursuit. I wonder if their roots know that it’s snowing? The branches reach up and softly cradle millions of snowflakes, building a colony. The fabulous intricacy of the elements soothes and amazes me. We all exist together. We each feel singular yet in truth, the symbiotic relationship of each part is what makes us whole.
Sometimes the downpour of snow sifts off to a slight sprinkle and the flakes lazily descend from their origins. Then, without warning, the deluge restarts, reclaiming its control. The beginning of a promising snow storm has always been, and will continue to be, one of my favorite times. The promise of the coming of all the things I love. The anticipation of stripping off boots, hanging coats, donning slippers, warming soup, layering under downy blankets – it stirs my cells. Retreating within, with the promise of the extremes outside. The storm unfolds outside my windows and I remain hypnotized. The flakes become rounder, fatter, more robust. They speak to me in hushed tones. They glide in on the wings of the wind. Sometimes they seem suspended in air, time stopped, so I can examine their beauty. I resonate. The heat of my home wicks comfort around me as the wind becomes boss of the outside elements. My molecules sing and skip, heralding the joy of the storm.
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