It is tempting to choose a recent moment, because the sights, sounds and smells are obviously more vivid in my memory…
But I want to remember the SNOW. It snowed a lot at the end of last year– and it snowed even more at the beginning of this one.
So much so that the first couple months of the year were spent mostly in this town, on this street, in this house.
But after an initial wave, enough to get everyone inside and off the roads, Kevin and I ventured out.
But before that adventure, I recall how warm it felt inside when we would open the door to try to coax the dog out. We took turns on the phone talking to our parents, sharing stories about the depths of the drifts outside our homes and the lengths of the icicles that were threatening our gutters and eaves. Because the house was shut so tightly we burned a lovely cranberry candle to stave off the staleness.
Finally, bored and stir crazy, we gathered a collection of coats, hats, sweatpants, socks, gloves. . . every part of my body had three layers. Of course, such bulk would make trudging through snow measured in feet even more challenging. And slow. We took a very long walk over a very short distance.
But it was peaceful.
The streets were empty.
Because it was so quiet, we could hear every giggle and cough from other explorers streets away.
It was so cold that my nose was frozen inside and out. Down one sense.
The rest of me was frozen, too. Down two senses.
Hearing through layers . . . Down another half.
But the beauty was so great that to take it all in might have been overwhelming.
I’ll have to ask Kev how the snow tasted . . . .