I’m fascinated by the snow. It’s nothing new to me – I’ve spent winters in places much colder than here, driven in snow deeper and more dangerous than today’s, but snow is rare enough in these parts to always draw some attention. Today’s little “blizzard” came in, like the fog, on little cat feet.
After a morning and afternoon filled in equal parts mourning, joy, and love, I made my way back home in the midst of quite a snow-shower. We usually only get the little flurries, barely pinpoints of ice that melt as soon as they land on anything, but today was different.
Today we got some real flakes. Big. Fluffy. Substantial.
They fell quickly, stuck surely, and blanketed the city in what seemed like mere moments. Kind of like life. One minute things are looking all regular, and the next, everything changes.
I reflected on this on the way home because, frankly, listening to the radio was too much noise for my broken heart. The incredible thing about snow is its silence. It falls hard and fast, and noiselessly.
That’s the part that amazes me every time. I’m usually drawn to the violent storms, with lots of thunderous claps and sheering rains, and winds that blow hard and noisily. The ocean, at its most tumultuous is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in nature.
But snow is different.
I know it has the potential for destruction, but in its moderation, in its manifestation today, it was a gift in its simplicity. Gentle, pure, and … quiet. It covered us, not with the pall we were expecting, but like a blanket that a parent might place across a sleeping child.
And still, there was a heaviness that mirrored the heaviness in my heart. The trees bear the weight of the snow nobly and bravely. I pray we can do the same.