Burningbird: Snowfall

December 24, 2002

There's something magical about seeing the first snow flake falling. At that moment, you and nature are joined in a special secret only shared by those who look out their windows at just the right moment. The first flakes are few, and dance lightly about in the breeze, like the tip of a tongue during foreplay. Moving here, no there, no here.

During the snowfall I watch the pattern of the wind, no longer limited by my crude perceptions that tells me the wind is blowing in a straight line from here to there. The snow traces the individual movements of the wind, a waltz of breezes.

During the day, through my window I watch a father take his child for her first walk in the snow. Hesitant footsteps made a little more unsure by suddently uneven footing that shifts about and causes her to fall. Cruel! But then there's that moment when tiny face is turned up into the snowfall for the first time; gently, cold touches sweep across cheeks and wisps of cotton at lashes and falls and melts in mouth opened to cry out in pure discovery. All is forgiven, and another child is found winter.

Better than watching the first flake, I love to go to bed with bare streets and wake up in the mornings knowing that snow has started falling. You can hear it by the absence of sound, and you can see it through your window as streetlight reflected. Pulling back the curtain, you look out on a world of white, lines softened between objects until the differences are erased. All you see is soft, crystalline mounds, sparkling in the light.

Snow brings with it a hint of Mother tucking us in against the cold, and a promise of waking.

Bb on December 24, 2002 11:12 AM

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Comments

Hi Shelley, how are you? Uh... I don't know exactly where to start... I've been reding your site for the last few hours and I'm... speechless. I could stay here reading this all night - and I might as well do that. I'm extremely touched by your words and amazed with your strength, intelligence, sincerity... and sweetness. I completely forgot about everything that surrounds me right now... and suddenly it came to me - the thought that this is one of those rare moments when all this isn't just wire and plastic...

amazing. thank you for that
*smile*
monica

Posted by: monica on December 28, 2002 12:39 PM

I second Monica's comments ;-)

Happy New Year Shelley, and do keep the flame burning [inbetween writing the books, mind you].

Posted by: Allan Moult on December 28, 2002 09:31 PM

Thanks for that wonderful evocation of the first snowfall. I was so thrilled during my just-completed trip to the Midwest to experience just such a snowfall--on Christmas Eve yet!

Happy New Year, Shelley. Thanks for some wonderful reading in '02.

Posted by: Tom Shugart on December 29, 2002 03:13 PM

After spending Saturday morning shoveling 8 inches of heavy post-Christmas snow out of my 150 foot driveway here in the central NH woods I'd almost forgotten that in other parts of the world there are times when a simple snowfall can be a wonderful thing.

Thanks for the reminder :-).

Your writing about snow also brings to mind cold winter mornings walking in the woods when I was growing up when all you could hear in the winter stillness was the cracking of the trees in the sub-zero weather and the sound your feet make crunching through the crisp snow.

Thanks :-).

Posted by: Andy on December 29, 2002 11:07 PM

Thanks, one and all, for the kind comments. They're a treat for me.

Posted by: Shelley on December 31, 2002 08:57 AM

Shelley, what an incredible post! I especially loved this part: "During the day, through my window I watch a father take his child for her first walk in the snow. Hesitant footsteps made a little more unsure by suddently uneven footing that shifts about and causes her to fall. Cruel! But then there's that moment when tiny face is turned up into the snowfall for the first time; gently, cold touches sweep across cheeks and wisps of cotton at lashes and falls and melts in mouth opened to cry out in pure discovery. All is forgiven, and another child is found winter."

What a wonderfully evocative and poetic paragraph. Fantastic post!
Have a great New Year.

Posted by: leesa on December 31, 2002 01:14 PM