Snowscape

One of my favorite memories was alone in the cold. The fluffed park was keeping my heartbeat slow, the cap on my head doing the same for my mind. The circumstances of how this came to pass are hazy, much in the same way dreams plunge yourself into vivid mindscapes; once you awake, the dream quickly slips through your fingers like water. So too is my recollection, akin to an image rather then a chronological set of events. Yet that image is why I love snow.

Perhaps it was depression, perhaps a simple night wandering or the effects of events long forgotten. What is clear, crunching through the snow with the moon and stars, was being surrounded by the world and yet alone in the moment. I recall the chilled breath fogging beautifully into the night air and forcing my glasses into my pocket. I trembled whenever the wind decided to dance alongside me, but only for a fraction of a tango. It was this, and the bench that I remember. I do not recall leaving with my pants utterly soaked, but I do remember as I sat upon it the cold slowly creeping it’s way up and digging into my legs.

This frigid feeling was nevertheless offset by my vision. In front of me was the falling snow. The flakes were illuminated, shining in my field of view and eventually disappearing where even the moon could not fully display its splendor. And it was quiet. Oh, the silence. Beyond exhaling and the moments of fidgeting crackling the snow underfoot, it was a subdued evening. I do not remember how long I stared into this expanse. Could it have been minutes? Or did time slow, the gears of my mind churning ever slower to accommodate the moment.

Nevertheless this intrusive memory always seems to appear when pressure mounts and stress rises. The landscape was not marred by humanity, or it’s aftereffects. Come the next day I am sure that the snow would be piled up onto mounts of dirt and rock, what’s left a wet and muddy remnant of what was once blanketing all that it fell upon. For that night, however, the ever rising volume of crystalline ice shimmered on the ground, not a speck of dirt or debris. Like glitter in a bottle it simply mesmerized by it’s existence and nothing more. Regardless of the initial motivation, I have to give thanks for those circumstances. Simply appreciating it without comment or interruption will forever be an image of power and serenity.