Snow isn't a miracle. It happens a lot of places this time of year and in some places, it comes down in sheets so thick it must be a nuisance to some. It could be as commonplace as the mind-numbing heat and humidity of my home in the summers.
But it isn't commonplace -- yet -- to me. So when I was on the phone with Tangle (who'd left the most cryptic of all voicemail messages for me {and yes, I can access my voicemail now}) and the flurries began, I paid attention. We had an interesting conversation about all of life's most significant elements and during this exchange -- actually in the midst of me explaining that I sounded weird because I was sitting outside in the cold -- piles of snow fell from the sky, caught the wind and rolled out over Dearborn with a grace and beauty that I'd forgotten.
I've seen snow before. I grew somewhat accustomed to it in Nashville, but I can't remember a time since high school on a trip to Washington, D.C., that I'd sat and watched it come down and been so reverent in doing so. That one moment stands out in a life now 26 years long, and to be more current, has been overshadowed by tonight.
Tangle was kind enough to go to bed so I could sit out there and watch cotton balls drift in every imaginable direction. Some launched sneak attacks and landed without warning on me from behind. The street lights illuminated while the cemetery across from the house stayed dark. It was so easy to see it all. I could have counted the clumps, but I didn't.
I tried my best to stop my brain and heart from interferring but it was no use. I was already writing this as it was unfolding. For a few moments, those internal voices slowed and whispered just soft enough for me to be lost in my appreciation. I felt cleansed and special. Most of the homes around me -- mine included -- were asleep. Only a handful of cars passed by on the road out front. And of all these, who would feel so grateful for a 15-minute dusting that wouldn't even be evident in the morning?
Special because I was ripe for it. I could have watched Heaven empty itself on our front yard all night if it were willing, but in no time, it'd had enough and all that was left for me to enjoy was the wind and the chill and the disappearing remnants of my first Michigan snow shower.
All this after I finished counciling Tangle not to read into life's daily events. Well, maybe I'm not reading it to. Like anything else, I see more in tonight than just snow. Comparison and contrast reveal something I'm missing. Snow, no more a miracle than a tree or the cats that roam this house, but these latter exist in the shadows of my roving attention.
I wish I could look at a tree with the same balance of peace and awe. I wish I could look at a woman that way again. I wish I would experience the controlled chaos tomorrow and see that ability in my life rather than simply in whatever is set before me.
And maybe some of you are looking for the punch line. I try not to be sincere about many things because it is a vulnerability, but sometimes, I can't help myself. My apologies for anyone looking for something else in this. Tonight I'm just sharing some Thanksgiving leftovers.
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