The sky is always lighter when it snows. I’m sure there’s a scientific explanation for this, but for me, an artistic explanation is sufficient: something pure and white is falling from the heavens to cover what is dirty and tired and cold, and as it comes down, the sky lights up like your best friend’s face when they are handing you a gift and smiling in sheer anticipation of the joy that it will bring you. When this happens, there’s something inside me that can’t help but want to be outside, receiving that gift snowflake by snowflake as it falls down around me.
I remember a night in the winter of ‘aught six, living on Lakewood Avenue in Chicago, when the snow had been falling for several hours, and had piled up on the tree branches outside my bedroom window. The lights in the house were all turned off; it was late and I should have been going to sleep. The streetlights outside cast a comforting glow on the scene, like the warm lamplight of the Lantern Waste when Lucy first discovered Narnia. I was drawn to it like a bee to the flower, and I grabbed my coat and hat and gloves and went for a walk. That was the winter when I wore without fail the black beanie that I’d bought at Disney World the summer before from the Pirates of the Caribbean ride. I remember, because I took the bus every day to my job in West Rogers Park, and one or two of the other regulars on that 8:36am bus commented on how unfitting it seemed that a little blond girl, usually wearing a skirt and tights and Mary Janes, was wearing a hat with the words “Dead Men Tell No Tales” embroidered on the back. But that’s beside the point; on this particular night I adorned my cap as usual, and walked in circles around my neighborhood in several inches of snow, just taking it all in. I remember that I wasn’t the only one with that idea that night. I passed several neighbors along the way who were also walking, mesmerized, in the wonder of the falling snow, and we exchanged a small smile as if to say, “Ah, so you appreciate this too.” I eventually returned to my dark bedroom, and penned these words before falling asleep:
They say ‘a picture is worth a thousand words.’
But tonight, I have no camera.
I have only my eyes…
that watch the snow lying heavily on the trees, their branches pulled near to the ground, like a runner reaching for his toes after a marathon. They hang there, hardly blown by the wind, but swaying under the weight of the heavy white burden that has been cast upon them from heaven above. They do not complain. Instead, they move gracefully under this weight, as if they know that this heavy blanket is to their winter barenness as the royal robe of the emperor who had lost his clothes.
And I have my ears…
that hear the steady drip, drip, drip, as great drops of wet snow tumble off the rooftops and tree limbs above. I don’t even try to dodge them, for they are too many and fall too often.
Instead, I feel them on my nose. At first, I wrinkle my face against the icy intrusion, but then decide to embrace the storm. I stick out my tongue, to catch the drops and the blowing flakes that swirl around me.
And I have my feet… that feel the crunch of the snow beneath them,
And my lungs…
that breathe in the fresh, cold air. It comes in my mouth, and fills my whole being with the knowledge that indeed, I am alive! I am a living, breathing human being, and right now, I am so thankful to just be. To experience the beauty of creation, to understand it, appreciate it, feel it, hear it, see it, and even put it in a few meager words.
So, whoever “they” are, perhaps tonight I have proven them wrong.
Or maybe, I just need to get a camera.
Either way, I walk down my enchanted neighborhood block and wonder if I am crazy for stepping outside of my apartment at 11:30 at night just to experience snow. Then, I see a man ride by on his bike, and a car full of university students out for a joy ride, and a couple taking a walk, and I hear voices down the alley and around the corner, and bits of laughter in my neighbor’s yard, and I know that even if I am crazy, I am not the only crazy one.
I stand on the threshold of my apartment building, keys in hand, and look again down the street. The snow is too wet to stay. By morning, the royal robes may have already fallen from the trees and the carpet beneath my feet turned to puddles. I linger a few minutes longer, hearing the voice of the child inside me begging to walk around the block or down to the lakefront. Then the voice of reason and safety calls me from inside… and I obey this second voice.
Still, even as I write now in my dark apartment, my eyes are drawn to the window, and to the white-clad branches that wave to me from just beyond the glass. Goodnight, friends. Enjoy your new clothes while they last.
So, 'here here' to the snow that is still clinging to the sidewalks and rooftops this morning. Winter has set in, and if my room is going to hover at 50 degrees for the next few months, I may as well have some snow outside to make the cold worthwhile.
-Rachel H.
