snow-christine-makhlouf

A foot of snow has fallen. Or more. The world carries that post-snowstorm quiet. As if the snow pulled down all the noise and chaos. Lay it on the ground. Covered it in soft, calm, white. And let it go to sleep.

I don’t want to shovel. I don’t want the snow plows to roar down the street. Not just yet.  I don’t want to disrupt this moment of settled when so much in the world feels so unsettled. Let’s just leave this be.

The sun will rise soon. We will see in daylight what pre-dawn sky has shown us. The waves of stillness shaped by wind. The spray of ice that painted tree trunks. Pine boughs have leaned down waving, daring to kiss the earth. Mailboxes have grown taller, and roofs reach higher. All is draped in now. Not next. Not before. The air is swept clean of yesterday. Today stands still.

The messy matter of unfinished autumn, needles and cones and conifer debris, all hidden now. Evened out. Nothing pointed to stub a toe. No crispy cracking underfoot. No hard earth dusting the sky. All the reminders of a year gone by, now buried. Just white.

The word ‘storm’ is too harsh. Too assuming. It was a snow event. A happening. A parade. Perhaps we should simply call it a celebration. Of winter. Of cold. Of mountain. Of new and fresh and hopeful.

(I can just hear the weather report. “And today we’ll have a strong celebration of winter. Expecting more than a foot of party supplies.”)

snow-celebration-1-21-17Snow is hopeful. The trees seem happier. The whole forest stopped in unity, took a deep breath. As if they had just heard good news. Shared a hug. Or perhaps had their first drink at a cocktail party. A little lightheaded, giddy, inhibitions dissolved. The ponderosa flirts with the bristlecone. Covered in confetti and handsome in fresh white. Everything will be okay.

Snow makes it feel like the world took a time out. Took a deep breath. Said a small prayer. And remembered that in the noisy brittle crunch of today’s chaos, there is good. There is hope.

There is snow. Take another deep breath. Be grateful, sigh, and then lace up your boots, cover your ears,  and get out there. Shovel. Clear the path. Go forward. Fresh.

 

Top image from unsplash w/ by christine-makhlouf; middle image my front yard; bottom image from bob vila tips for shoveling.

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