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 Wouldn‘t it be nice to come and go like gentle
snow? Not the hard, wind-driven kind, but the soft kind … the kind
that’s nice to kids and dogs. The kind of snow that builds up slowly
on the porch railing until it is about six inches deep and bereft of
bird tracks.
Then we can scoop some into big cups and pour some syrup or honey on
it and once again taste our way back to childhood. We can do it even
when our beards are as gray as mine is these days.
I’m told a lot of folks hate seeing those black and gray clouds
moving in. For them, it means a cessation of warmth, a lack of
green. It means the swimming hole down on Lewis Creek will belong to
the muskrats and the huge trout we call The Lunker. For a few
months, anyway.
But children have a grand time in gentle snow. It’s the time of
snowmen, and snowball fights, of sliding down the hill on your sled.
We’ll go down a steeper hill this year so we can be really fast. It
gets dark early these days, of course, but somehow that’s not really
a problem. [to top of second
column] |
Through the vagaries of the
mysterious onset of winter, we discover that darkness shuts down our
outdoor fun at about the same time Mom has supper ready. It’s a
blending of times. It’s a magical mix that makes us jump out of bed
each morning to see if there’s new snow outside. We can handle it,
you know. We don’t even talk about it. Somehow that would be
profaning the experience.
Because soft, gentle snow tucks us in for the winter and makes us
feel loved. It is a gift … just for us.
It’s magic.
[Text from file received from
Slim Randles]
Brought to
you by Dogsled, A True Tale of the North, by Slim Randles. Find it
at www.amazon.com.
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