A Cup of Snow Tea, Anyone?

February 10, 2010

Millions of little miniature works of perhaps the most ephemeral artistry of all are piled up just outside the door. Marveling at the micro perhaps lends itself well to marvel at the macro: the full spectrum of glory exists from the intricacies and precision of snow crystals as they bond in symmetrical perfection and breathtakingly exquisite detail. And then, they pile up, higher and higher and higher and higher and swirl around madly as they are right now in the night air–almost as if administered by a madman, a very extravagantly wasteful inventor, in an explosion of innocence that leaves the common man reeling with impotence.

But then there are the children: no one needs to inform them how to respond. From the start of our blizzard several days ago, I have enjoyed seeing the children run to the hill across the street, making snow angels and logrolling and sledding all day until late at night; and then, one of my favorite indelible visual marks of this snowy go-around: a woman walking her son home early from school, carrying his backpack as they walked single file in the small shoveled canyon of the sidewalk; I glanced at them as I drove by at a snail’s pace on the icy road to purchase some last-minute items before the storm intensified; her little boy, unbeknownst to her scooped up a mouthful of the newly fallen snow.

I tip my teacup of snow and cream sweetened with maple sugar to the children and to all those who still love the taste of snow.


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