I checked the weather forecast and according to it we will be getting some snow all throughout the rest of the week. I still do not see this happening but why not bring some snow to our writings? Today’s topic is SNOW!
I don’t finish all my homework… I slack on the studying. Snow dance at 8 o’clock. Pajamas inside out. I take all the necessary measures to ensure a snow day. I stay up late, not worried about waking up the next morning. Those weather guys better be right or I’m gonna be in trouble tomorrow! Morning arrives. I whip open my bedroom shades. The ground is white, large flakes dance in the sky. I grab my fleece blanket and sit in front of the TV, waiting for the B’s to scroll across the screen. Bishop Guertin High School – CLOSED.
The Haynes sisters and Wallace and Davis sit in the club car of the train taking them from Florida to Vermont. There’s some romantic interest building – they sit boy-girl-boy-girl – but Wallace is angry because Davis gave the girls their berth tickets; his crankiness could ruin it all. When they start singing about the snow waiting for them up north, though, I can tell that it will all be fine. Snow, Snow, Snow, Snow, Snoooooooow: rallying around winter’s promise, they harmonize in the opening of the song. When they get to Vermont, there’s no snow, but they’re friends, so it’s ok.
I don’t really do New Year’s resolutions – instead I do life goals. My life goals from about 10 years ago (no particular day) are to fly and to make warm snow. Thank you, I am well aware that neither of these is attainable at the moment. Also, I am well aware that anyone who knows me will probably die of shock if I end up as the developer of any sort of cutting-edge technology. Still, I entertain these fantasies. Right now, I can see the snow falling outside. Some of the flakes seem to be falling UP. I have faith.
Their speed must have overwhelmed the cold as they zoomed down the mountain in zigzags — both the snowflakes and the skis. For some reason, I was uncomfortably close to them both, my feet attached to the skis, my face pelted by falling snow. It was my first time down a run, ever, and I was petrified — my courage melting with each additional out-of-control yard. Back in the safety of the shelter, I watched in awe as the pros came down the mountain. They skied in rushing avalanches, intimidating and powerful, and they made it to the bottom before the snow.
After college, after six months wandering about Asia, I moved to a southern California surfer town to experience winter as I had never known it: snow-free. I worked in an art gallery, cruised the coast, watched the local surfers on the waves and in the bars. The sun shone. Steadily. I’d stop the car to rescue avocados fallen from the trees onto the pavement; in the yard I’d pick oranges, lemons and limes and wonder how people could take this place seriously, how they got anything done, how they stayed sane with the weather…so…perfect, without modulation, without season, without snow.
I love looking back on my childhood and recalling the mornings I would wake up before school and see that it’s snowing. I woke up at six because the bus left at seven, so it was still dark out, but I would run downstairs and sit in front of the television. I turned on the local news, Channel 10, and waited to see “Barrington Middle School: Cancelled”, to show on the bottom of the screen. For some reason, Barrington school’s never got cancelled as much as East Providence schools, and this always frustrated me. I always waited for snow days.
I wonder what snow was like without Polypro fleece and Goretex. Colder? Perhaps, although I have a feeling fur pelts are warmer than thin layers of glorified nylon. This isn’t a rant on the downfalls of modernity. I’m curious. Were humans expected (by whom, I don’t know) to venture north and live in climates dictated by seasonal changes? Probably not, at least on the scale of a civilization (think of the wasted energy!) But we’ve been doing it for long enough, that’s for sure. I just picked up a handful of snow and it contained a history of mankind. Hmm.
Basking under the sizzling sun and crazy all-night-long dancing under the sky were followed by a flight up north. In three hours, Florida morphed into Vermont. After summer came winter. As I stepped out of the airport, my face twisted into an ugly grimace of anger and bitterness. Shivering, I grabbed some snow from the ground. Despite the painful kisses that my fingers received from this evil white mass, I started pressing it frantically between my hands. Once my perfectly round, tennis-ball-sized snowball was done, I threw it on the ground with all my might while squeaking, “I hate you!”
Dribbling down my chin, the electric pink syrup reeks of artificial cherry. Why the snow cone? Some children are as enticed by it as they are drawn to cotton candy. Cotton candy is grandiose, light, whispy. Magic clouds. Snow cones are low-quality flavorings soaked into shaved ice. When the ice melts, a sugar-water solution remains with a powerful concentration of Red Number 40 and Yellow Number 5. Eyes fixated and reflecting hot light, my little brother thrusts his hand towards my wax-paper cone. I let him finish my treat. Licking his lips he says, “Eww. Tastes like cough syrup.”
I just woke up to get ready for class. My room is hot with a thick atmosphere. The heat is caressing my skin and I really do not feel like putting anything on; plus, with the closed windows and no light in the room, my bed is calling me back. To quickly get ready for class, I put on a slightly heavy jacket with fairly open dress shoes on. I rushed out of the room only to soon find out that I need a bigger jacket, heavy socks and long heavy boots. It was my first snow day ever! YEAAAHHH!
When snow runs down the sky it’s like a trillion dandelion seeds being blown from their stalks. It has no clock, and is often late or inconveniently early. It’s the guest that shouldn’t have shown up, bud did, bottle of wine in hand.
Snow is a billboard within the bounds of the tennis courts. I hate to see it defaced with promises: “Jimmy loves Anne”. That’s narcissistic.
I have this urge, however, to build snowwomen and dye them with food coloring. They would be sirens- eyes thrown wide in unblinking blue, melting down their chests as it starts to rain.
Looking up. I can see the ocean of white algae floating, directionless, in its white habitat. It has no direction – defying gravity, wind driving motion. This ocean is free-moving, no water can hold things still… The tips of my feet start to feel cold, numb. Something is massaging them, relaxing them to a point of no motion – they disappear. My face is leather. It is smooth, raw, slick. Ice finds a home on what little facial hair I have. The snow coats my body – suspended in the air – and weighs me to a point of surreal calmness. No more motion.
Your cold wet body dances down onto my nose. Feather light one by one, but when amassed, your immense weight traps me in the vices of a straight jacket. Ten flakes fall from a sky laced with disaster. I pull on a jacket too big for my body and too warm for the weather. But I dance; I twirl; under the spotlight of the dingy street light. Silent as seven am on Sunday, I am alone. But you keep me company and we move to the indistinguishable notes wafting through the thick night air. We have rhythm and a stage.
There is something about winter. It just feels better. To pull on sweaters and slip on knee high socks. To peel away the sticky sweat of summer. The sweat that pools behind your knees and drips down your nose. The sweat that sweeps across your forehead as you brush it with your hand. Winter is to flick those droplets to the ground. Winter is to give you snow. And the snow. It blankets the distance making the time move slow. It covers the roads and tells you it is just easier to stay at home. There is something about winter. Feels Better.