Sunshine is delicious, rain is refreshing, wind braces us up, snow is exhilarating; there is really no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather. ~ John Ruskin
Let me just say this now before someone questions my sanity: I LOVE SNOW.
There's something about the velvety blanket of white that covers the world and creates an illusion of clean sheets on the bed of grass below. I adore the way snowflakes effortlessly dance to their destination; it invigorates me. Watching my cousin's children gleefully race around a barely-snow-covered front yard the first time they ever encountered snow on a trip from Florida to Kentucky at Christmas time made my heart sing and soar. Turning off the alarm and nestling back under a warm comforter next to Jay on the first official snow day of the school year truly makes me happy. Marveling at the glittering, glistening diamond-like brilliance of snow cover on the ground beneath a full moon -- does it get any better?
As a college student I would borrow cross country skis from the girl-next-door and take off across the WKU campus with no destination or purpose except to experience snow and the sound of skis slicing through skim of ice on the surface. I had no clue what I was doing. I possessed no skill, no technique. To any onlooker, I 'm sure I appeared awkward, but determined to cross the open field below Downing and my dorm.
I wasn't going anywhere, but it sure felt free.
These days, I'm much less adventurous. Strap on a set of skis now? No way. Too fearful I'll tear another meniscus or break bones. Scared of what someone might think of me bundled up and bulky, attempting to stand up straight and coordinate arms and legs, poles and skis. Sure, I still love snow -- but from the warm comfort of the kitchen looking out the French doors or behind the lens of a camera. I've relegated myself to the safe vocation of a vicarious observer of snow and not the enthusiastic participant I was in my early 20s when I'd ride down College Street past the SAE house on a "borrowed" cafeteria tray. It's a miracle I'm still alive!
I recently asked Jay if he'd like to go snowboarding. He was less-than-enthusiastic at the suggestion.
"Why don't we go antique shopping instead?"
How adventurous is that?
I think we're just getting old.
Today the sun stole more snow from yard, the driveway, the roadsides -- and it saddened me to see it melt into puddles on the pavement. Not because I'll miss the way people can't drive in it. Not because I realize praying for another snow day is a practice in futility. Not because I enjoy the chilly, icy breeze that often accompanies it. Not because I'll miss salt stains on my jeans or suede shearling boots. I'll miss the snow because it reminds me of a time when I truly felt free to strap on skis and just go. And I'll miss it because this winter I rediscovered the magic of a snow-covered world and the connection I feel to God and nature in the midst of the silence of an unexpected snowfall when the earth becomes blanketed in bliss.
Maybe next time it snows I'll just throw myself into it and create angel wings.
Maybe I'll fashion a snowman or become friends with a cafeteria tray sled again.
I thought about all those things this year; perhaps next time I'll feel free to just do it.
