Wintersong

Pin It As I went outside yesterday afternoon to an overcast sky which hinted at snow, but it offered up nothing; I ventured out into the frigid air to run errands, as well as pick up odds and ends from the store. I traveled from one place to another, and still the skies were silent. I began to feel a bit of lackluster at the grey afternoon when, while conversing with a friend I happened upon in the parking lot of the local market, a few flakes began to fall from what had previously been a silent sky. My friend and I both looked at each other and grinned.

As I drove home, a few flakes settled on my windshield as I waited at the light; the perfect, little six-pointed creation began to melt upon striking the windshield and, gathering strength from others who’d met the same fate, streaked down the glass. It wasn’t long before a small flurry gathered strength—the first flakes had brought their fellows with them, and in their steady stream they floated down from the heavens.

I arrived home and pushed open the front door, greeted with the condition of warmth I’d left it in earlier, and the hint of fresh cider lingering on the air. I ignited the lights on the tree and into the playlist went Amy Grant and David Archuleta.

The warm, fiery glow of Christmas burst to life, even though the snow soon ceased. I found myself amazed how simple little things like sights, smells, and sounds can combine to create a feast for memory—a smorgasbord of the senses; whether in remembering those things from the past, or storing new memories for days of future perusal.

I braved the cold again to check the mail at the end of the street, it was there that I found a package awaiting me—laying amongst the offers for insurance discounts and utility bills.

It was from a fellow blogger.


Ah, Christmas was even more so alive and well, as I feasted on Christmas delights which (as claimed) contained no rat poison or arsenic.

I basked in the simple pleasures which were mine, and made my way to a restful night’s slumber. You can imagine my surprise when I awoke this morning to discover inches of cotton-fluff blanketing the world in an array of spotless white.

I felt myself becoming excited—the first real snowfall always tends to make me think of newness, of new beginnings, of sledding down deadly hills at breakneck speeds on silver runners which—really—have no existent way to steer or to stop. It brings to light the memories of yesteryear when the snow was never a burden, but instead something to take pleasure in—opening up limitless possibilities to build and create, to eat, and to pelt others with when they ventured out.

Outside, the snow still falls. Memories remain. Blogging can wait.

I need to enjoy the wonders of this glorious phenomena while it is mine.