My school district is infamous for never calling a snow day. Perhaps there is some logical reason we never have one even when in every direction other schools have cancelled, but I’m not privy to any reason beyond yankee pride. Thankfully, students and teachers alike miraculously make it despite the scary road conditions or the below freezing temps. But yesterday school was called, and it felt like a gift for sure. No rising in the dark, no trying to figure out how to maneuver out of the snowdrifts before our plow guy does his job, no slippery slide hoping to stay on the road, just me in my pj’s for hours sipping tea and watching the white stuff fall fast and heavy. Been living in a snow globe for months on end but today felt like a peek into a wondrous winter wonderland.
These last weeks I have kept close to home, venturing to work and back with little else filling my days or nights. Mostly because I have been battling one of those winter colds, (and finally winning) but also because the roads have been icy, and getting back to our cozy world seems smart and safe and more important than anything. On this schedule I have gotten home while it’s still light, so a slow meandering stroll to take in the forest and field is a must do.
This week I wrestled with post-holiday blues and in this quiet time I recall those no longer here. Those shiny, vibrant beings who escaped their earthly bodies to dance with stars. Or at least that’s what I imagine tonight. I mean, if I can’t share a bottle of champagne with my mother anymore, at least I can presume she is doing something fabulous, starry even, right? As my eye drifts out the picture window at the endless snow falling, I hear her ringing laughter, for she adored the holiday season, skating full force from one glittery gathering to the next without pause.