steel grey mantle. sharp clean air. a stunning shroud of moon lit sequins.
the mandarin orange sunlight spilling across a snowy bower.
the smell of wet wool and hard wood. whisper of flurries, exclamation of trees.
bundles spilling from branches, sliding from peaked roof,
sticking to gloves and boots and hats.
i love a big snowstorm.
i dream of it really, every winter.
sometimes it's challenging to reconcile a mediterranean and arctic lineage.
i prefer a temperate open-window-day for the bulk of the year.
but please do bring me a couple of great servings of snow. . .
just a couple, thank you very much!
the south has really taught me how to welcome a snow storm. the stocking up, yes, of bread and cheese and granola and a few great beverages. the preparation for possible long term power outages. some sort of stew recipe doubled. and at least a few baked delights.
filling the tub and the pitchers, doing a few quick loads of laundry, grinding the coffee beans, charging the devices, making sure batteries and candles are in supply. choosing to alter or commit to schedules based on what if. checking radars and school closures incessantly.
dan is a heroic wood gatherer and uses the resources that surround us with just an axe and hand saw. we don't depend on our wood stove to heat us through winter, but when a storm comes, we prepare to rely on it. we assume that we will lose power.
he is also shovel master. our driveway is a beast to clear. this time he made two great tracks for our tires to roll through and left it at that.
to our astonishment, the power didn't flicker once with this storm, a huge change from what we experienced four years ago in the big snows, and even last year with the wet, heavy, end-of-march four inches. so we built fires for the love it. we continued to cook, to bathe, to run water from the tap. and we played some. not enough, nearly, but some.
we watched the snowfall ebb and flow and return. we lounged a lot and worked a lot too. we had impromptu family time and flirted briefly with an alternate schedule. our olympic viewing went uninterrupted, despite some difficult reception at times.
and it is still out there, mounds of snow, melting, and freezing,
capturing everything that stains its stark white field.
we continue to play in it, to wonder at the way the light plays on it
in the deep heavy there is memory. trudging up and down a long snow packed driveway. sledding alone when school was canceled. gathering with friends on friday nights regardless of road conditions. invigorating ski runs in subzero temperatures. wet hair freezing stiff while walking home from swim practice. damp boots and gloves and garments peeled off at every entrance.
accumulation a daily norm.
the built in pause at the window while assessing the frosted backdrop of your every outing.
flexibility, balance, endurance: a winter pose.
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