Mother Nature hit the pause button today. As an 18-inch blanket of snow lay outside my front door, I am reminded of the joys of staying put.
Nowhere to go can be a great place, when you rest in nature’s palm. Make some hearty soup, throw a log on the fire, and watch the snow tumble down from your cozy rocking chair.
Snow delivers a permission slip to slow down, to breathe deeply and appreciate life, inviting us to look within. When we stare into a roaring fireplace and lose ourselves, or merely note the peaceful silence of a glistening night, we glimpse into a world of perfection. We can see that snow is magic, and we become a part of it.
As children, we understand and embrace this. Snow days are seen as a gift from heaven, with flakes falling down on tongues and eyelashes, and opportunities to build snowmen and create celestial figures from our own body. Like a new toy to be shaped and molded into whatever our imaginations could allow, childhood snow reminded us of possibilities. And as the wintry mix snuck down the hoods of our jackets and tops of our mittens, we could not only feel the cold, but could absorb the wonder of special memories being made with family and friends.
But, for most adults, snow days mean tending to sidewalks and front steps. There’s milk, bread, and eggs. Get gas for the car; buy food for the cat or dog. Don’t forget the aspirin after a day’s worth of shoveling. If we’re not careful, the magic is contaminated by obligation and responsibility. If we’re not mindful, awe and inspiration are replaced by grouchiness, impatience, and complaints about a messy foyer floor.
The snow is still falling as I type this. Outside, a flock of Canadian geese is flying above the treetops, just beyond my neighborhood. They are squawking loudly, as they always do when they pass by. But today, thanks to a magical snowfall, it feels oddly serene to hear them.