Snow By The Light Of The Moon

That morning, the snow had be an unwanted obstacle, impeding upon her daily routine. The roads hadn’t yet been cleared, and sidewalks were (of course) not at all a priority. She had had to leap across the backyard, hopping in and out of the snow. She had just emptied her boots so as not to let them become filled with puddles when she realized the trek was not yet over. She wadded through knee high snow, feeling as if she were swimming above ground. When she told people she liked snow, she didn’t mean this much of it. The bus was swerving, cars were stuck, immobilized in their driveways. The snow was nothing more than a safety hazard.

Since then, it had stopped snowing. The roads had been plowed, and sidewalks (mostly) shovelled, creating mountainous snowbanks. Done work for the day and safely back home, she sat perched in a chair, wrapped in a blanket, and soothed by a steaming cup of tea.

She was suddenly struck by an unexplainable urge to be out in the snow again. She set the cup of tea down on a shelf, tossed the blanket aside, and rushed down the stairs. Quickly dressing in all the snow gear she could find, she stumbled outside into the snow and wandered into the middle of her backyard.

She stood there and looked up at the sky for a moment, and then allowed herself to fall backward, trusting the snow to catch her in its cool embrace. She closed her eyes and listened. It was late, and what few sounds there were seemed to be caught by the snow. As she lay there absorbing the silence, she thought to herself that yes, maybe when she said she liked snow, she did mean this much of it.