Last Friday’s forecast of 1-3 inches of snow morphed into almost a foot. Suddenly, we had a full-blown snow day on our hands. Schools closed, there was a run on bread and milk, and a few unlucky folks ended up in the ditch.
I went home and took my dog out into the snow!
Because that’s what you do on snow days in the mountains. You bundle up and go out in it.
- You catch snowflakes on your tongue.
- You make snow angels (which the dog promptly spoils).
- You throw snowballs and make snowmen.
- You come inside with your cheeks rosy and drink hot chocolate.
- You find dry mittens and go out again.
- You go sledding!
Thistle and I ventured out into the neighborhood and found two kids doing most of the above. Best of all, they were building a snow ramp for their sleds. My brothers and I did that. If you poured water on it before going in for the evening it would freeze over and go even faster on day two. (Unless your mom found out and sent your dad out to break it up before you could break a leg.)
In my memory, snow days were times when all the regular, day-to-day busy-ness of life slowed and sometimes stopped altogether. It was as if the whole world–my whole world–was muffled in that glorious white mantle of snow.
Last Friday was like that. Sent home from work, no thought of going anywhere, and our sweet little valley utterly transformed by lacey bits of ice. It reminded me of the very best thing to do in the snow . . .
Stop. Tilt your face up to the sky. Listen.
Do you hear that?
It’s the gentle chink, chink, chink of unexpected, undeserved peace washing your overwhelmed spirit clean. Leaving it–if only for a moment–white as . . . snow.