I was just outside, and it smells like snow. It’s about 37 degrees out, and it’s raining. The forecast is for light snow off and on throughout the night. I don’t know why, but I’m excited for the snow this year. It’s almost like it was when I was a kid, and I’d start to smell snow in the air, and I’d start daydreaming about snow angels and scarves and snowmen and climbing the mountain of snow that the snowplow pushed up next to the garage. I’d start yearning for the feel of the cold sharp air on my cheeks, the slight burn on my fingers when they got too cold after the snow melted through my mittens. And the beautiful silence. That utterly pristine silence that you only hear when outside in the dead of winter when it’s snowing and there’s no one else around. It’s a silence that has always made me feel so joyful that I have tears well up in my eyes and my heart feels as though it might burst. I don’t know why I love it so, but I always have. And it’s been a few years since I’ve taken the time to seek out that silence, to quiet my self enough to enjoy it, to let it fill me, to let it energize and heal me. To take in the beauty of this earth while everything is silent, but still so alive.
I guess I need to get myself some warm boots this winter.
