When I’m warm, I don’t mind the snow. It falls silently and hushes the world around me. When I have to be out in it driving, or on my way somewhere with the cold wind blowing through my scarf and sleeves, I’m not so dazzled. I have been so cold in NYC that I’ve actually cried as the wind cut across the Hudson River and sliced me to ribbons.
Today was a warm inside day. I worked from home, looked at the snow flakes swirling through the trees outside my window, and watched the roads become indistinguishable from the lawns surrounding them. A few hours later, the winter snow scene began to ice over, and now the winds are shaking the trees, bending them, pushing them, stripping off the old branches under the darkness of a moon-obscured night. Like it had done through so many winters, past.
Time is passing so quickly, unlike when I was younger. Then, winter seemed to last forever. I recall meditating on a bitterly cold February day and mentally turning the world outside my closed eyes into a field of tulips and daffodils. It was so real that when I raised the shade to the outside world, I was shocked to see the snow laden trees and walks.
I know that in another moment, I’ll open my eyes and it will be a blazing autumn outside my window, with scarlet and gold leaves dancing in the dust devils and I’ll think, wasn’t it just last night–the wind was howling and the trees were swaying above my house? And I’ll dare not blink again for a long time.
Photo: (c) 2016 Virginia Wagner Galfo