Friday, February 04, 2011

The Night Of The Snow ...

I poured a glass of wine and settled in.

William Ackerman's "Passage" was my soundtrack. I nestled into my comfy chair, arranged my afghan, and opened the book that a postman was kind enough to deliver as the storm was setting in.

Later, I turned the last page and turned off the lamp. The three track lights above the stairs shone dimly down the wall, the room's only illumination. I looked outside. The snow was blowing, left to right. Not falling, but being pushed, hard and fast. I wondered where it would land. Somewhere, I figured, in a field, where it would lay pristinely.

I tossed off the afghan and made my way into the kitchen with my glass of wine, a lone candle on the counter burning austerely, casting the only light. It felt like a painting in a museum, like a time before convenience, when one candle would have to make do, to conserve for the long winter.

I went to the window, marveling. It wasn't fully dark outside, so much was the light reflecting off the snow, both the snow that had landed and the snow that swirled in the air. The air looked gauzy, the light diffused, soft edges everywhere.

It was breathtaking. And I thought to myself how privileged I felt to witness it, to stand, gratefully, in my warm home, safe, and watch the storm blanket the world around me. And I thought about sleeping, about the winds whipping around my home as I dreamt under layers of cotton and down, and what I would wake to in the morning.

I wished that I had a camera that could capture it exactly, the light, the wind, the power and emotion happening on the other side of the glass. But instead I have an indelible image tucked safely in my mind, a moment fixed in time. I cannot paint it with words, but it is there for me to recall, beautiful and profound.


Blogger Tom Erdman said...

I have always loved the isolation of winter. And, I have always loved the pushing people out of the ditch part. You find community in circumstances like this. There is beauty in that as well.

10:59 AM  
Blogger Beth said...

I love that part, too.

Until I read crap like this:

Someone always has to pierce the veil, huh?

11:03 AM  
Blogger Tom Erdman said...

You know, I don't think or worry about that. That's not on my radar, nor will it ever be. My veil is still intact.

1:46 PM  
Blogger Beth said...

I'm glad about that.

I just meant in general. I like to think that such circumstances bring out the best in humankind ubiquitously. But then someone goes and blows it with a story like that one.

But I'll remain hopefully naive. :o )

9:21 AM  

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