One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughsOf the pine-trees crusted with snow;
And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,The spruces rough in the distant glitter
Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same windThat is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the
snow,
And, nothing himself, beholdsNothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
Today I sit under a warm roof, watching the snowflakes fall
delicately on the bare branches. The sky gray, the earth silent. I sit in
remembrance of days like this on the hill.
The evening before great anticipation swelled in the house,
ready to burst with excitement for a day off and a day of play. Childhood
memories are built upon such nights. Procrastinating bedtime in preparation for
school the next day but overtly hoping to wake up to mom saying, “No school
today!” then back to a warm bed to finish a dream then rise with great vivre.
Maybe pancakes would be made or a steaming bowl of oats but
as soon as the energy was gobbled down the time came for the great bundle.
Ah, the great bundle. I dreaded these times. The toil and
sweat to prepare three kids for the cold, dressing them in bulky, obstructive
snow suits, squeezing their little piggies into rubbery, fleece lined boots
while shoving mittens on their little kittens, placing the cherry of a pom-pom
hat on their head, remnants of baby hair making one last stance before the
strands of time fade to extinction.
The fussing and whining at such an effort. Boy, I was
frustrated. Shame I couldn’t savor such fleeting tears.
Then out the door, a wave of arctic air flushing through,
waking up whatever senses still lay sleeping. Sleds and saucers gathered and
off they went. At this point I was typically still in my pajamas and robe,
skating through the snowy, icy driveway in slippers, long enough to get the
kiddies set up for some fun on the hill before I returned inside for a grasp at
silence.
We lived on quite the hill. Not great topography for a
family with three young kids, but when a winter storm hit, our house was the
place all the neighbors, young and old, flocked. Life and limb was risked
tearing down that hill, sometimes fast and far enough to skirt across the road
and down the wooded ditch. Those were fun times, filled with reckless
abandonment, liberatingly wild and carefree.
At first I would watch through the frosty window and laugh
and giggle from a distance. I’d watch as the kids would fly down the hill,
getting smaller and smaller from my line of vision until they’d crash to a stop
laughing all the way, then trek back up for another adventure. It looked like such a
joy ride and it was! I’d break out the camera and take some shots, then I would
drag myself to partake in the fun, reminding myself that such activity would
invigorate my aging soul.
It was cold outside but the smiles and excitement from the
kids at their mom showing up to be a kid motivated me to brave the elements.
And we rode down that hill, dodging trees and gullies. Gathering branches and
stones, carrots, old scarves and hats, we built snowmen and named them. Stepping
back into my childhood, I became one with my own kids, for that moment and
that day, investing in a memory that I didn’t realize would become so etched in
my mind.
Time to come in from the storm and have some hot chocolate
and bake some cookies. Sipping coco by the fire, cheeks defrosting and pink,
mittens hung to dry until a second wind blew by ready to start the winter dance
all over again.
Today I sit in my warm, new home on a flat lot perfect for a
young family, except when there is snow on the ground and no hill to ride down.
And as happy and at peace as I am, I reflect with a dull ache in my heart on
those days and times on the hill. All is quiet here.
I longed for today, a day to savor silence, not having to
deal with the great dance of a winter bundle and attendance to three dependent,
young heartbeats. Today is that day. There are no suits to stuff mittens in
kittens and cherries on tops. Visions of hot coco and cookies are saved for
another snow fall. This storm is calmer. Yet as calm and as peaceful and as
blessed as today is, I have a small ache as I remember the hill and those days.
And the memory pleads to ride them once again. If just for a moment.
Today, on this quiet, kid free day, in the warmth of a new
life, I pause, close my eyes, take a sip from a phantom vision, knowing and grateful that life is good,
then swallow the nostalgia triggered by a gentle flake falling on
a tree under a gray, wintery sky.
