Snow Days

The snow is finally melting-- at least this batch is-- and as with anyone who’s muddled though this past winter, I’m thrilled about spring’s debut, but I’m also a little sad. “What?!” you say? Before you hack at your computer screen with scissors, please hear me out. I actually enjoyed all the snow. Not because I’m a big cold-weather snow-person. To the contrary, I loathe being cold. But there were some very cool things about this past winter that I want to gingerly bring up before you pack it in, label it “The Worst Winter In Recent Memory” then shove it away in a shoe box under your bed.

Living out here as we do in the burbs, the snow stayed pristine and lovely for ages as opposed to you-know-where where it turns sooty, grubby and grey within 48 hours. Our snow gave us a bonus landscape that really was quite magnificent and remained visually awe inspiring for so long that every last one of us had to succumb to it’s beauty. We had no choice.

I loved that for a while—okay, a looong while—we lived not in our familiar town, but in an alternate version of our town. Dark green grass and brown mud took a hike for a while and we were left living in a stunning black and white portrait; stark yet beautiful. It was as if a surreptitious roving band of midnight art directors descended upon us, blanketed our world with soap flakes and glued cotton batting to every branch, and then took off, leaving a version of what we knew to be our town in it’s place for free. How lucky were we to be lifted out of the visually mundane with the added peace of mind that it would definitely end; that this is a limited run, and this snow will melt for certain.

I loved that we had to completely rethink our relationship with snow. It became more nuanced and complex as the weeks passed and the snow continued to pile up. In the past, we could chalk snow up to a brief dalliance or mad tryst, but this time we were forced into a more mature relationship with snow and had to learn to live with it and accept its shortcomings. Collectively, we all became more mindful of its demands and I for one learned a ton. I learned when to shovel after the snowfall and how not to wait too long-- the hard way. I became intimate with the turning radius of my car and appreciative of the design that goes into a good shovel. I learned that a six inch snowfall is nuthin.’ I learned to watch for the days that the air would rise above 32 degrees and what that square edged shovel in the back of the garage was perfect for. Like gardening, the snow had to be cultivated, cut back and groomed. It had to be cared for; nurtured and nudged.

For those of you in a long distance love affair with a beguiling Inuit Eskimo lass or on the fence about whether or not to move north, we got the chance to see what it would be like to live in Fargo, Anchorage or the Ukraine without actually having to move there to check it out. “No, thank you!” I can now answer with gusto should someone ever ask me if I might like to live there. “I had a brief taste back in 2011, and yes, I’m sure the answer is no. But thanks for asking.” How lucky we are to remove all doubt.

But the biggest reason I’ll miss the snow is the general kindness we were forced to hang on to long after we’d dismantled our holiday lights. Over and over again I danced with the stranger in the oncoming car, slowing down to navigate our single lane together. Many times a day I accepted the offer of “You first,” and as many times extended it outward. These gestures were often acknowledged with a quick flash of the headlights, or a small wave. But each time-- as with every conversation I had with my weary neighbors while out shoveling or breaking up the ice—I was reminded that we were in it together. That we were a team. Sure, chit-chat turned to grumbling early on for most, but it didn’t bother me. I listened politely and nodded in agreement as I looked around at the magnificent wonderland that had transformed our mini-mall parking lot or simple, little street and thought—wow, spectacular. How lucky are we.

Pleasing/Gone

Last night as I was sinking down
Floating into new sleep
I wrote the loveliest, richest poem
That none shall ever peep

I didn’t reach for paper
Nor for pencil, what’s the point?
My thoughts lingered like vapor
Which my pillow would anoint

It was a pleasing poem
And I smiled my inside smile
Knowing it would please you
As I wrote it without guile

But like the day, I let it go
They’re not all for preserving
Like when I’ve left my camera
Though the moment seems deserving

Sometimes a week can pass this way
Unworthy of remark
No news is good news as they say
From curled up in the dark

And so I’ll strive to make peace with
The poem that is gone,
As hours and friends who’ve flit and fled
Like fireflies on the lawn

Was it enough to know them?
Some things just aren’t meant for keeps
I hunger for desire
But want is thin and aching seeps

Some friendships aren’t conducive and
Like poems and steam dissolve
Wee hours can be elusive
Not the time for staunch resolve