It isn’t until I’ve walked all the way across my yard and down the hill that I realize if I stop and be quiet, I can hear them: birds cheerfully caroling. I have tracked my foot prints in the snow, though, and every step makes a kind of crunching noise in the three inches of frosting that covers my lawn. I hate to ruin unblemished snow. I always have. The best part about snow is that reverent silence it covers the world in just after it’s fallen. Of course, ten minutes later, the neighbor kids are out, scooping up handfuls and running crisscross in it, their energetic calls sending puffs of breath into the air.
For now, it’s just me, the snow, and my thoughts, though. It’s 9:50 AM, and I am alone, the neighbor kids having gone off to school. I stand by the edge of the woods again. Only, this time, the same forest has been transformed. It is hushed, dripping ice. I glance down at the snow gently holding earth, covering the heart of the matter. Around me, branches have oddly begun to bud as if the blanket of snow tricked them into warmth. From pert, new shoots, crystal beads hang suspended. Even the tall trees, their arms spread like webs, look as if they are more alive than they were two weeks ago. They frame pictures of pregnant, grey sky. Meanwhile, fine droplets of ice or water or snow (I can’t tell!) whisper as they fall from the heavy clouds.
Such delicate jewels remind me… A couple days ago, I was driving home at night. I pulled up to my house and gasped. The ground was awash in glitter. Speckles of light flickered in the rays of my car’s high beams. “What on earth?” I puzzled. Then, I realized it was frost! Tiny shards of glass had formed over blades of grass because the ground was cooler than the freezing point. It was lovely. I stepped out of my car and just marveled.
That’s how I feel now in my backyard, my feet quiet, my mind finally still. I close my eyes and breathe and imagine that snow does not, in fact, cover. It renews and washes and signifies that life will come from death. When I open my eyes again, I see the fog-laced woods, proof of a Creator I sometimes forget I believe in.
Aimee, I love this post! So full of wonder!I am always amazed at how a difference of just a few degrees can change the nature of the snow...you describe the frost at night (I bet it was very cold), the unblemished snow, the ice dripping from the trees.
ReplyDelete"I glance down at the snow gently holding earth, covering the heart of the matter." Very poetic! You could start a poem with that line. Also, mysterious. I wonder, what is the heart of the matter?
Your idea about renewal...yes.
Thank you! I was honestly wondering what to say about my backyard covered in snow until I stopped walking and realized the crunch of my footsteps was missing. It's strange the way some things begin. :-) The heart of the matter...that's a little hard to put into words. The heart is always my dad. The snow literally covered the last place he lived and the place we laid him down. But it's funny that, in the end, I decided snow is more like a second chance.
ReplyDeleteI like your idea that snow renews and washes. Snow, I suppose, while not a cover, is more like a cocoon--provides for a transformative experience..
ReplyDeleteOne doesn't often have a sense of hopefulness or of renewal from winter, from snow, but you've conveyed that really vividly here. You're keeping yourself open to the possibilities implied by this place.
ReplyDeleteAimee, I really love that your spirit and writing style in this post mimics that of the snow you describe. Your rejuvenation in the snow comes across, and it seems like your writing conveys the same peace and solitude that you feel in this place at this time. I'm not sure what gives me that sense, though. Perhaps its your verbs and adjectives, such words as "reverant," "unblemished," "hushed," "gently holding." All of these words, at least in my mind, create the exact sense you are describing. Great job! And, also, I hate to mess up the snow, too! ;)
ReplyDeleteAlso, I forgot to mention how I love the bit of science you weaved into this post at the end-- the description of why the frost formed. It stood out to me because we've been discussing that aspect in our class, but you have weaved it in seamlessly so it doesn't seem like science and instead seems like a poignant point you need to make here to get the sense of this place at this time truly across.
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