I woke up this morning to a fresh blanket of snow. Wait, let's be more specific. I woke up this morning to the clattering of my dog's toenails on the hardwood floor. I groaned... rolled over and swallowed the fact that I was going to have to get up and let the dog out long before I was ready to wake up (the truth is once I am awoken all I can think about is how I really have to go to the bathroom and if I am up to go there then the guilt that I should just be a good dog mom and let him out weighs me down until I do it). So, I trudged my way to the back door, inevitably tripping over my over-eager dog only to find that once the door was opened my dog refused to go outside. I looked out and everything was white- I thought it was beautiful. Yet my dog had somehow forgotten what snow was over the course of the previous three seasons. My now awake husband finally pushed him out of the door against his will. The dog sniffed the white substance, licked it and then ran out into the yard, tail wagging again. I smiled and then laughed as I watched him. I imagine it was similar to how a parent feels after being awoken in the middle of the night only to find their baby grinning at them from the crib, wide awake. I could not help but be touched by my silly dog's "new" discoveries.
I am excited about this snowfall. I will admit that it is entirely possible that it is because I know that this snow won't last. This isn't the snow that will form the constant tire boogers behind my car wheels. It isn't the grey snow that lurks in every parking lot come February. It also isn't the snow that I will have to shovel in the driveway while battling the temperature disparity between by extremities and my core (oh yeah, that's me wearing a ski mask, boots, gloves and just long underwear shoveling away on my very busy street). It is just a temporary reminder of things to come. A warning to get ready because while you were trying to wait until the very last minute to rake those leaves, winter was still making its way to you.
This snow is beautiful, white, and clean . It covers everything in sight, creating an alien landscape. Unlike any other season, winter has the power to change your surroundings in such a short time. The buds of spring take weeks to bloom, the heat of summer builds slowly and the leaves of autumn turn gradually. Snow is different. It takes a view that you have gotten used to, maybe even resigned to, and makes it brand new. It gives you the energy to keep going because somehow things feel fresh again.
Winter is a season that I need to bring me back to center. Other seasons are filled with chaos, but winter is more of a constant which allows me to turn inward. It also allows me to bring my awareness to the small things. I was excited to take the dog for a walk today, because it suddenly felt like a new adventure. We went down to a bike trail that follows the Cedar River. It was quiet, not a single biker, jogger, or morning speed walker to distract me. Just the trees, the river, the snow, and us. I noticed a hawk swoop above the trail ahead of me, which is something that would have probably been camouflaged by leaves just a week earlier (or even more likely, that I would have been too distracted to notice because I was trying to stop my dog from running in front of a biker, while they are ringing their annoying little bell and my dog is running circles around my legs and I am just trying to keep upright). Even more special to me was that I again noticed the chickadees flitting from branch to branch. Chickadees remind me of my late grandmother and listening to their familiar song brings me back to forests of Wisconsin. I am lucky that a species so common is so dear to me. I can have a piece of home almost anywhere I go, as long as I have the consciousness to notice them.
Winter is a cozy season. I think one of the best compliments I have ever gotten is when a friend once told me how "cozy" I was. At the time I think it made me feel like a grandmother, but now I have come to appreciate and embrace this trait. I am looking forward to a season filled with knitting scarves, drinking hot tea, wearing fuzzy sweaters, and reading Laura Ingalls Wilder by the roaring woodstove. Maybe my winter-loving husband is wearing off on me, but I can't wait for that next layer of white.
