I wanted to hate the winter storm that came through on Tuesday. Snow on the first day of spring isn’t unheard of in my area, but it’s certainly not what most people expect.
I wanted to be annoyed that schools dismissed early thus canceling track practice and ruining the hill workout I had planned for my kids.
I wanted to sigh at the continued cold temps knowing that the heating bills wouldn’t be decreasing anytime soon.
I wanted to groan at the idea of having to using the snow shovel that had been sitting on the porch untouched for most of the winter.
Instead, without intentionally trying it, I enjoyed the snowstorm.
Maybe it was the fact that my area had no truly significant snowfalls this winter. Maybe it was secretly wanting an evening off from track practice to catch up on cleaning. Maybe it was the comfortable feeling of extra blankets to keep me warm. Maybe it was the sense of accomplishment after shoveling the sidewalk and spaces for the cars.
I think though that the most likely reason of all was the connection I felt to nature Tuesday night.
Around 9pm I went out to shovel once more, wanting to ensure the space I dug out for Jason’s car was large enough for him to park in when he returned home from work. By that time the snow was still falling, but it was lighter and finer. As I walked back the sidewalk to the house I stopped and listened. All I could hear was the snow hitting my jacket hood. It sounded as if I was hearing each individual flake.
I looked out across the end of the street and the cemetery to the development beyond and the clouded sky. A sense of pure calmness embraced me. There was no struggle to calm my mind as I’ve often experienced when trying to meditate, but rather the thoughts dissipated on their own. I felt at peace with the world if only for the fifteen minutes or so I stood quietly outside.
Snow in December has always felt magical to me. It’s probably because of the holiday season. Snow the rest of the year usually just feels like a reminder of the seemingly endless winter. For some reason though this sudden spring snow felt more like a December snow to me. I thought to myself “This is the type of night that poets write about” and I began crafting various lines in my mind. Everything sounded so cliche though, and I knew any attempt at poetry (which I rarely write anymore compared to how often I did in my younger years) would be an utter failure at describing what I felt.
My love for the cold, snowy night eventually ended. Another full day of snowfall yesterday resulting in multiple trips outside to shovel saw to that. I was grateful to see the sun melting some of it today and can only hope the high school tracks melt in time for my team’s two meets next week. Despite my return to reality, my “time out” from life and the chance to connect to the beauty of nature was a reminder of what it means to truly enjoy the little moments in life.