Tales of Snow

There’s this debate running through my brain as to whether or not I should be writing over the weekends. Now, if the past were any indication, I’ve been able to do most weekends with a specific hour each morning carved out for keyboard time. However, when I’ve got my youngest, a lot of that gets kicked out the window given I’m unsure as to when she’s going to be up and about and that whole pesky scheduling thing. It’s also easier when I’ve got a solid collection of photos to go off of rather than a spotty first-of-the-year catalog like I’m currently sitting on. In any case, I’ll figure out my cadence, one way or the other, and continue this pursuit I started in late 2022.

It snowed heavily over the past weekend in the first “real” precipitation of Winter 2024. The fact that our white Christmas was a few weeks removed is no real bother to many of us; gratefully all of the big travel has been over and done with for a bit. However, I’m still a bit peeved at the weather gods for waiting to dust us off with this heavenly powder for so long. I mean, don’t they remember when Halloween used to be the “Surprise, winter is coming!!!” day to remember?!

You have to appreciate, one way or the other, how snow changes the nature of a place. You automatically assume that everything and everyone will slow down*, that there will be a delightful intentionality to how we approach the roads, our timelines, and each other. It’s a languid blanket of patience if you will.

I took the opportunity to wander around my apartment complex last night, going as slowly as I could, practicing my Danish on DuoLingo, and generally avoiding the glare-ice peeking out from underneath the freshly fallen snow.

Everything sparkles at night. The halogen/sodium lights on the property cast a bright white light across every corner and curb, creating shadows, contours, and textures. If you walk slowly enough, you can take in all of these simple and complex features and glimpse a world that is, for the most fleeting of moments, pure. It doesn’t feel cold or sterile but rather, like those memories you may have of gentle, intimate hugs and the breaths in between.

Snow is a revival as much as it’s a mask. It covers the ugliest of stick season with a fresh coat of nature’s paint and yet, decomposes rapidly underneath the sun’s withering gaze. It’s a game of chicken between powers cosmic: the chilled air invisibly buffering the sun’s warmth to keep the mask intact. It’s a cosmic stage fight: planned, assured, and with an inevitable outcome.

I suppose that each of us needs these moments, the interruption of the usual, to rethink our lives. We need the snow storms to reimagine how our lives look, and how they could exist differently. We can find resonance in the simple sparkles and fades of nighttime snow at rest because it touches a part of our soul that wants to be covered and hidden. We appreciate the blanket of innocent pretension, knowing full well what ugliness lies beneath.

Snow isn’t just about hiding away. It’s about indicating change as well. There’s an assuredness that once the snow falls, the renewal of spring will be on the way, and the dead leaves and dormant grasses will bring new life from their decay and slumber. If anything, the smothering of snow brings even more intention, more purpose, and more life to a year, and to our souls.

As we start this week, I’d suggest that for all the complications that snow brings, we should look at it with new eyes. We should embrace the slumber of our souls for underneath this winter of our spirits, new life is being created, new hopes are being stirred, and possibilities are being assembled. I, for one, welcome these moments of deliberation as a chance to create, challenge, and forge ahead with the hope of a coming year.

May it ever be so.

*I’m being deliberate in not calling out my fellow Massholes for some of their absolutely inane behaviour here. Even with snow tires, careening down the highway in the middle of a storm is irresponsible. Do better, people.