I have an otherworldly relationship with the snow. I will always welcome it; even when the calendar says it should be spring, I find magic in the slow flutter of the sparkling white fluff, the way it wraps up and quiets the world like we're all being tucked in.
So this snow, it was the one I had been eagerly waiting for, like a child who has heard news of a predicted snowfall, face pressed to the glass, quietly chanting, "When?"
Saturday night, it began. We said our goodbyes to friends as they left, and watching them head out the door, we spotted the very first flakes, only just a fine glitter. Trevor put another log into the stove while I tossed extra quilts over the beds. In the morning, the world was different.
I recently finished reading Haruki Murakami's The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, and one of the most mystifying themes of the book is how the characters experience spiritual shifts, physically. Even though on the surface, things appear the same, there is a hint in the air or on the skin, something alerting to a subtle, but important change. That is the snow.
The snow sees that we are caught-up in the dreariness of winter. We've lost sight of its coziness and peacefulness, so snow says, "There isn't enough magic in the world right now." Then it sprinkles the earth with a fine, beautiful sugar to sweeten life all over again.
The last six months, our life has been a steady stroll out of a certain sort of dreariness and back into magical light. Watching the snow cover all the paths that lead to this new home, it was the perfect reminder that we have been following the right ones, all along.