Curled up with a mug of tea, I sit on my brother’s couch watching the snow fall outside. A white blanket carpets the city as the world goes by. Only used to winter rain storms, I marvel at the quietness of the snow. The wind is blowing, the snow is landing, and yet no noise is created. Such a strong contrast to the pattering of rain drops on the roof that I’m used to. It’s beautiful in its own right.
For most this is the umpteenth snow of the season, old hat. For me, this is a magical thing to watch, a chance of discovery for one who is unfamiliar with this white powder. I walk through the freezing rain, learning how freezing rain bounces off my jacket, and hits my face. It turns into snow just as I arrive at the house – a soft gentle structure, no more bouncing of frozen ice, instead a structure of thin ice crystals. I watch a man scrape the snow off his car, and marvel at the tool designed specifically to be both a brush and a scraper. He’s most likely frustrated that he has to take the time to do this, I however love learning about this process, seeing the steps he has to take. I start to realize why there are snow shovels not only on front porches but also in the trunks of cars. Two birds fly in seeking cover, they find refuge by the side of the garage. They nest in a pile of leaves – they’re here to stay for a bit.
Today I walked through a cold winter morning, came back through freezing rain, and saw it change into gentle snow. For that I am grateful.
What a beautiful post. Almost makes me miss living somewhere with an actual winter.