A Winter's Tale

It was the first snow of the season and it was going to be a very long day if I didn't take the girls out to see it, touch it feel it. Its a known fact that I am not especially into these things. Snow, winter, Christmas that sort of thing. Give me Christmas on the beach away from the rampant craziness and the cold. But I have children so such Scroogyness no longer gets an audience. I had to change whether I wanted to or not.

So I dressed the girls in the obligatory layers. It took so long I wondered if spring would come before we made it downstairs. But this is Minnesota. Snow built to last.Eventually we made our way downstairs. I took a deep breath, opened the door and stepped out into the white.
There's something about winter. Fall is my favourite season with its richness and depth and change. But something about the winter , when I am not ignoring it, takes my breath away. The trees are stark, barren, brittle looking, left with nothing. Only the evergreens seem to survive. And the snow. How can something so delicate on its own, collectively be so utterly devastating? Snow has the final word, nothing can resist it, and all that is left is silence. I've never considered it gentle or picturesque or peaceful. Its the complete takeover that I find so, intrusive. There was a whole world happening before the snow came. Now that world has been taken over.

The landscape evokes countless metaphors. Barren brittle trees and thriving evergreens. Delicate devastating snow. A world, a life beneath the white surface enveloping everything. Cold and austere. Its reminds me of loss and isolation and strength that comes in tough times from invisible sources. Of how its often the little things,lots of gentle little things , choices, moments, heartaches that somehow quietly, stealthily ,if you will, command control of our landscape.

An eleven month old's giggle interrupted my thoughts. Zoe was looking around and stretching out her arms, and feeling the snow whisper past her face as the wind blew. And it made her smile and giggle.

Tia walked slowly toward the snow. Gently. almost on her tippytoes. She bent down and touched it, swept up a handful and threw it in the air and the wind carried the flakes away. She looked up at me, her wide eyes wider than ever and filled with awe. "Mom," she gasped "It's Christmas"

And as her eyes locked with mine, I saw who I used to be, how I used to be some 30 years earlier. When winter and snow and the cold filled me with awe and wonder. When I could stare at snow for ever, stick my tongue out to catch it and feel it melt. And there were cold fingers and wet clothes. But there were snowmen and snowballs and games and fun. And there was wonder and awe and you wondered if the snow would ever stop, but you hoped it wouldn't stop falling, so you prayed a prayer to whoever you thought was there to not let that moment ever stop. And it didn't ever stop, because it wasn't about time. It was about wonder and excitement about who knew what else. Yes there were presents and nice food and fun and Christmas, but there was more than that. There was magic. Not the Harry Potter type David Blaine/Copperfield stuff. I mean the word you use when you are a child because your vocabulary isn't big enough to say its beyond what you heart can contain and bigger than your brain. That magic, which as an adult I'd probably call spiritual.
I saw who I used to be and how I used to be. And then I remembered the time, when, way back when,winter became a metaphor for loss and endings. For little things that became this big thing that was out of your control, always was, and then just took over everything. When winter became cold and wet and cruel and the magic was... gone. There will be a time for that another day.

But in her eyes I saw that it didn't have to be that way anymore. That I was free to find wonder excitement. That I could feel the flakes on my face again. They were allowed to melt on my tongue again.I could see evergreens, I could see beauty and peace and Christmas and magic. So we walked into the snow and we played and we sang and we danced and we played some more. Little flakes of redemption, gently falling, settling, taking everything over. I smile at my little girls and wonder who is raising who.