There’s snow up in the Sierras, and a huge amount of snow just fell back home in Virginia and throughout the southeast U.S. On the Weather Channel they’re calling it Snowmageddon.
All that talk of snow has me thinking about the calm and brightness of it, has me wishing for it.
The closest I can come today is the crystalline sparkle of granite in some of the sidewalk squares in San Francisco. When the sun shines, it lights up the pavement like a field of snow on a December day in the Rocky Mountains. It stings my eyes. The glare of it. The memory of it.
Which all puts me in mind of my favorite all-time poem about snow, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost.
Those “miles to go before I sleep” prevent me from sinking into the lovely, dark and deep. How many years now have I been saying to myself, “One day I’ll stop. Some day I’ll just sit quietly and watch the snow, smell the flowers, feel the sun on my face, listen to the rain, breathe.”
Just not today.
Photo Credit: Pawel Franke
I lead writing workshops in the Bay Area, and spend much of my so-called free time writing. To support my avocation (and my family) I sell residential real estate in San Francisco; for more about that visit RealEstateTherapy.org or CynthiaCummins.com.