It seems as though everyone but those of us in the Northeast’s has been getting snow this season. But yesterday, we finally got a respectable helping of it yesterday, just about a half a foot here. Although that always means cleaning up after it, I think we’re all pretty pleased with what we got. So, with a hot bowl of soup in our bellies, my husband and I went out about 6:30 last night to clean up. After my task of getting my car cleaned off and moved, shoveling the porch, and cleaning the steps, I took off into the back field while my husband finished the driveway. There I sat, surrounded by darkness and snow, just taking it all in.
I felt each snowflakes as it kissed my face, melting on my nose, my lips, my chin.
Wisps of wood smoke swirled with the snowflakes in the air. It wasn’t that sharp, shallow, cold middle of winter smell, no. It was warm, full-bodied, earthy and sweet.
The wind whistled, slightly muffled, as it moved through the yard and the trees. Snow crystals collided, resulting in sharp, crystalline chimes. A winter melody.
Very little of the porch light reached the field, but what did found its way by reflecting off the snow. Though no spotlights on a stage, the glow silhouetted a neighbor’s pine. Here it performed for me, its branches swaying, waving, all part of an interpretive dance. Plant stalks, leftover from fall, rise through the snow and take part in the show, bowing low then rising up again.
Alone in the dark and snow, I was warm and wished to be no other place.