Grateful for the snowy days

These ideas are being written down on Saturday evening, after a day of snowfall, which covered everything outside with five or more inches of shiny white snow. By the time you read it on Thursday, the whole world will have changed again in some new, wintry way. 

 

Today, though, I am willing to say I am grateful for snowy days like this one.

 

For one thing, we all hunker down in our homes and let go of the idea of going anywhere–all without any guilt about missed appointments or carelessly disappointing others. Once the horizon disappeared, none of us really want to go anywhere anymore. 

 

What struck me most today is that time seemed to be moving differently. I have spent eight or more hours writing my numerous news pieces for this week’s edition, but I didn’t really feel the passage of time. Rather than minutes, the day seemed to be measured in snowfall.

 

I would look outside and watch the birds coming to my feeders for a while, then return to my work. When I looked again, the tops of the feeders would have somewhat taller caps of snow, the feeders would seem somewhat emptier, and the birds would still be coming and going.

 

Somehow the snow has managed to perch on even very small surfaces, including some lightcatchers hanging in my pergola.

 

The snow resting on them seems as bright as light itself, and I can’t help speculating how the word “lightcatcher” has suddenly taken on additional meaning.

 

Even now, after dark, the yard light is enough to make the snow sparkle. The sidewalk in front of the house, conveniently shoveled by someone other than myself, has gone from being a suggestion regarding the path to take to a somewhat rigid rule, since creating my own path across the yard will leave my shoes and clothing damp up past the height of my ankles.

 

The black field across the road no longer soaks up all color, but is now serenely reflecting the moonlight.

 

I know that the numerous rabbits who like to munch on the dropped seeds under my birdfeeders will be leaving record of all their comings and goings as long as the snow stays as impressionable as it is right now. It’s deep enough that they will be leaving indentions the size of their whole bodies as they bounce forward across snow deeper than they are tall–except for their ears, of course.  I remember from past years, those rabbit-body impressions look almost like human footprints coming across the yard.

 

So for now, I am enjoying and appreciating the snow. I know my feelings are likely to change tomorrow when I have to relearn how to drive.