It’s been a long time since I’ve lived in the north, or in the snow.
Lately, in my dreams I’m walking in snow, deep snow.
The dark, Steele grey sky is still.
The snow has a crunch and resistance as my boots push down.
I step, and push my foot through….the crunch, almost squeal that the snow makes is tattooed in my mind.
The sound of snow is unique in all its forms.
Quiet when it falls, loud when it’s stepped on.
Dry powder, or heavy wet slush…snow is such an amazing phenomenon.
The swoosh of skiing on powder is a sweet, sweet sound.
The grind of tires in packed and dirty drifts can raise your blood pressure.
Lately, since my dad is on my mind. I remember him in snow.
I had double bladed skates when I was 4 or 5, that he hated! They would get gummed up with snow and he’d dig the blades out with his keys…fussing and cussing. The lake where we lived in Ohio was so pretty. The families would clear the ice with paths lined with luminaries and the nighttime skating was so great.
My dad, with a ladder out against the house, pretending to put carrots on the rooftop for the Reindeer at Christmas.
My dad, walking home from a New Years Party in Chicago. They had left us home, me in charge at 10 years old. My brother was 4. It wasn’t a great thing to do. I called the neighbor’s house in tears. My dad came back. I watched from the window of my bedroom. He walked back in the night. The street lights, the snow made his walk look like something from and black and white movie. His coat moved about him as he walked. His hat, cast an odd shadow. He looked like Humphrey Bogart, In Charge. He calmed my brother down, got us tucked in bed. He was my hero.
There is something about this time of year.
It makes me think of Steele Grey days, hot chocolate, layered clothing, the cold stealing your breath, numb fingers and toes, and my dad.
Snow. It is heavy with memories.