A Wondrous Winter

It’s spring here.

And usually I’m the kind of girl whose excitement is irrepressible when the first buds show themselves, peeking shyly from between the branches.



But this time around, I can’t help but feel a little twinge of sadness. 


Because, you see, this past winter was the first time, since I’ve been here,  that the city which I live in was graced with snow! It was a particularly cold, dreary day and towards the evening it was filled with small bursts of hail that showered down unexpectedly, and then stopped just as unexpectedly. The weathermen had said it would snow so naturally no one was expecting it to actually do so.


That night I was conked out on the couch, telling myself that I should go to bed soon, but instead, frying my brain cells needlessly with a viewing of Iron Man. (I know, terribly bad taste, but it’s amazing the depths I will sink to simply on account of laziness). However, the movie came to a point where it was too unbearable even for me, and much too ridiculous to sit in on even with the excuse of laziness (here I speak about the appearance of Iron Man’s arch enemy, the – wait for it – Iron Monger. I kid you not. I wish I was.) So, following this travesty, I stalked off to my bedroom in complete indignation, and anger at myself for having wasted an hour or more so on such a banal film. Before throwing myself into bed I noticed a text from my friend. It consisted of only one word: “Snow!”


I gasped, ran over to the window, pulled back the curtains, and began squealing like a five-year-old on Christmas.

 It was actually snowing. Little specks of white were being tossed onto, and over, our yard on great swirls of wind. They were twirling and leaping, and glinting underneath the lights of the lampposts. Their high-blown dance was accompanied by the hushed quiet of the night, overlaying it with the muted whoosh which spoke of their movement. The snow had a sound. It whispered quietly of secrets, and yet called loud enough for all who wanted to listen, inviting them to join in the magic.
Of course, there was zero possibility of simply going to bed after that. Instead, I roused the whole house and my siblings and I quickly bundled up in whatever we could get our hands on and ran out in utter glee. I’m sure there were springs on my feet. I’ve never jumped so high in my life, or for such a length of time. I am not exactly the most athletic person out there, so this was quite a feat.

Outside everything was white. The sky was dark, throwing down heap upon heap of this icy, white fluff; and in their measured intervals, the lampposts tried to feebly project their own light, but knowing that tonight it was the snow’s turn to twirl, leap, dance and soak up the attention. Shouts of laughter, whoops of glee could be heard, the wind carrying the sounds over several blocks.  Cars drove past slowly, with the passengers inside waving happily at us, laughing at our excitement. It felt as if the whole world was blanketed by a magic that was all the more fantastical and enchanting in its ability to bring everyone together.

 The snow quickly settled on us, disguising us with white hair and beards; we seemed Eskimos in the dark night, bundled up and running to and fro, touching, grappling with, flinging the snow- the busiest, happiest of Eskimos.

There was one moment, when I saw our mailbox. There was a newspaper sticking out that we must have forgotten to bring in. The mailbox seemed to have grown in height, its roof accompanied by two inches of thick snow. And another layer, slightly lower had fallen on the bit of paper that was jutting out of the slot. And that, that small thing, of the snow on the mailbox and the paper, seemed to make everything all the more real to me. Something triggered inside my head, and I began giggling hysterically, shouting at my siblings to see the snow! The snow on the mail box! Wasn’t it amazing?! No doubt they thought I was mad. And perhaps I was. If it is possible to be mad with glee, mad with happiness, with joy shooting through every one of your nerves that you don’t know what to do, don’t have any choice but to simply jump, keep jumping and laugh as you have never laughed before.

I had seen numerous Christmas cards that told of a world absolutely covered in this white magic. But that night, for the first time in my life I was living out one of those cards. That night one of my girlhood dreams was finally realized. It was truly amazing. To say, the snow covered everything seems insufficient, lacking. It didn’t simply cover, it encompassed the world I knew, came down to settle, to sit, and in that dark night, it seemed as if it would never leave.
But, of course, it did. It’s snow. There is nothing which symbolizes transience more than snow. Towards the closing of the next day, it melted, bit by bit with sections of our yard becoming simply puddles of water. Our snowman, despite his smile stretching across the width of his face, looked woebegone.

 The magic evaporated, taking the joy with it. And it felt as if a friend had left. And that I would never see them again.  

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2 thoughts on “A Wondrous Winter

  1. Okay, last winter and the winter before we had so much snow I swore I'd never want to hear about it again (ever!), but your post is so good I almost want it to snow right this second!!!:) This is wonderful!

    Like

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