What I don’t understand, is how people can look outside their window, see little flakes of infinitesimally detailed flakes of ice, watch them ride on the wind, dipping and dancing across the window pane, and not feel the least bit amazed by it. By how beautiful it is.
I suppose I’m a bit biased: I’ve never had to live with the stuff. I came from a place where snow was at best an anomaly at worst a sign of the end of the world. I’ve never had to shovel it, never experienced power outages because of it, and I don’t do too badly in the cold. Yet how is it possible to look at a precipitation that does not just fall to the ground, but float, and not feel some of that childish wonder that so many of us have left behind.
It looks like laughter among friends. It starts with one, and then others join in, playfully running along the colors of the wind and taking their good time to settle down on the ground below. And they create the most beautiful artwork on the ground: mounds upon mounds of playing materials. And it makes everything look so new, so fresh, so vibrant. Even in covering cars and bikes and benches, it’s almost like God’s way of making us slow down and appreciate what is around us. To look at our world anew. To see beauty even in the depths of winter.
I love the snow. I love how poetic it is: how it falls, how it looks, how it feels when it gently brushes your face. There’s a childishness about snow too, one that I relate to very much. Not only in how it is a favorite childish pastime to play in the snow, but also because of its character. Only a child would ask to fall up with the wind! To spend as much time between the sky and the ground in order to enjoy the adventure of the arrival. It’s more about the journey than the destination for snow.
They know where they’re going, these snowflakes. But they have no idea where they will land. It doesn’t bother them, if anything it gives them more of an adventure: choosing whether to stick on the branch of the tree with its friends or simply ride the next breeze to the ground below.
I love the snow.
Still, forgive me if nothing I’ve said made sense. Nonsensical ramblings have always been my forte.