Well, here we are again, expecting winter weather – not just snow, also ice. Hopefully not as much as last time, but we’ll see.
We are supposed to get a couple of inches of snow, so I’m excited for that, at least.
I’ll be recording a podcast episode this afternoon, so I hope I get to watch it snow while I chat with my friend and we create something good. That would be nice. But again, we’ll see. (And if you want to listen to the podcast, here’s a link to it on Spotify: Better Friendships on Spotify.)
Anyway, here are a couple of things I wrote thinking about the incoming storm.
While lying in bed last night, unable to sleep, anxious about the weather:
We’re expecting ice again today.
Please just make it go away.
Not a winter wonderland,
not fun, like playing in the sand.
Just slick and heavy and dangerous.
I really hope it misses us.
And something a little more thoughtful, after my first cup of coffee:
A beautiful danger
makes slow and steady progress –
tree limbs press down and strain
against the weight of it,
as if the whole world could break.
This glistening villain,
freezing fingers and frigid breath,
holds a glinting blade behind its back
and betrays all who love the cold.
I love winter, but these ice storms are killing me. I’m still holding out hope that before the end of the season, we’ll see some snow. Fingers crossed!
When I was born six weeks too early, too tiny, and before I even had a name, they took bets on whether I’d make it.
I made it.
I’ve always made it, every moment of every day, even when I shouldn’t have, when I should have failed, I’ve made it. And I’ve made it good.
So I tell people: Don’t bet against me. Underestimate me and just wait and see what happens.
Because I made it, and I’ve made it, and I’ll make it.
I am my own hero, my own knight in shining armor, my own deus ex machina, my own miracle. I am unstoppable, unflappable, unembarrassed, unashamed, and unconcerned with those who’d doubt me.
I made it.
Even when it’s impossible (nothing’s impossible), when it’s too dark to see (there’s always light), when the game seems lost (life’s not a game):
The cold moon ushers in the New Year – full of promise, flanked by worry and doubt and fear, but new nonetheless, and fresh and free. May we all see dreams made real, time and touch and love, and may we be happy. May we take this year and make it what we want and need, and may we do what we can do. May we happen, and not get happened to. The New Year opens the door. May we all walk through.
Delicate and slow Snowflakes descend from gray skies And turn the world bright
*******
In rhythm with life Like white petals on a breeze Fragile crystals fall
*******
Powder coats the ground Soft like sweet icing sugar Dessert for the eyes
*******
This new snow globe world Brief and fleeting as a breath Fantasy made real
*******
I love snow. I’ve always loved snow. I like the way that life slows down when it snows. I like the reminder that fragile things – tiny, delicate things – like snowflakes, can have a huge impact and tremendous power.
A December snowstorm is a truly rare thing here in Virginia. The forecast has changed several times over the last hours, so I’m not sure how much snow we’ll get today, but I can tell you one thing:
I will enjoy every single millimeter and every single moment of it.
For days and days, we watch. And we wait – for the cold snap, the good pattern, full clouds and low pressure, the track and the timing, elements that must come together. Warm breath on the crisp air, red noses, chilly fingers, hats and gloves and hot chocolate in hand, we watch and we wait for the delicate promise of the season’s first snow.
A Virginia Writer's Diary 