Monday, December 08, 2008

Ramble from phair

I do enjoy rambles and tonight we once again catch up with phair.
First Snow

It is snowing up here in the Commonwealth. Our first real snow storm of 2008. We didn't get much in the way of snow last year after a sneaky six incher just before Christmas. But, that was 2007. The remainder of last winter was butt biting cold with a few frozen flurries but no truly shovelable snow. So, 2008 is a late starter it would seem. At least by the measurement of fluffy white, freezingly wet precipitation accumulation.

The snow this morning was no surprise. And, not because the weather guy with the perfectly straight white teeth and light tan told us it was coming. All anyone needed to do to know there would be snow this morning was stand in the yard last night and look up. Our usual window into the infinite expanse of twinkling black was transformed into an ever bowing, soaking wet ceiling. The stars were hidden behind dreary curtains of heavy gray clouds. The moon made a brief appearance as a hazy sliver of white which was smothered out long before midnight.

But, it was the smell which promised with certainty snow would fall. It is the unforgettable smell of winter which is quickly forgotten each spring. It's at once both cold and warming with a taste of salt. First breath in shocks the nose and chills the lungs. It quickly warms to the body but cools the host lulling the brain. Sleep will beckon if one lingers too long. Endless slumber follows for any lengthy lack of warmth. Winter and death are not merely metaphors for each other but the life of nature in the north.

My grandmother taught me to watch the sky for darkening clouds and brewing storms and trust my nose for snow. She respected the Atlantic and feared the wind. Haze around a December moon meant nothing but trouble to her. And, the smell of cold in the air was as good as snow on the ground because one always followed the other.

My grandmother is long since gone and even longer since last sane. I seldom think of her and even less seldom think of her kindly. Yet each year, as winter begins again, I remember what she taught me and feel some comfort in the thought that nothing really important has changed in the hundred years since her birth.

phair


Thanks, phair, I know we all appreciate your sharing. And let me tell you my daughter will stand on our front porch hoping for the white stuff to fall. She awaits those heavy clouds in hopes that our area's average 2 inches will be wiped away once again this year.

Have a good night, folks and enjoy the updates!

Elisa

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