This December was not like the one before. The previous year
offered little of winter, at least not until well into February and March.
Today was the first full snowfall. The first real accumulation. It called to
him. It whispered his name. Since he was a boy, he had a good relationship with
this time of year. What once held tobogganing and snowball fights and forts
built at the end of the driveway now graced him with crisp cold nights, starry
skies you don’t see in summer and the charming appeal of breath captured in the
chill. He always tried to walk whenever the snow started falling. Even just
around the block would fill him with both a sense of nostalgia and melancholy.
It had always been like this for him. There was always something about falling snow
that seemed romantic. It was almost soothing to his soul. The wind that bites
at others, only seems to caress him. It may be wild and wicked but he
befriended it a long, long time ago. These walks would not be the same without
it. He rarely wears a hat; he just doesn’t need one. The tingle one gets as the
night grows colder only stirs him to carry on. He loves to trudge, and slip and
slide. He loves to smell the winter’s glow all around him, the stark bitter
nothing more than an old acquaintance. Every year, as the snow returns, so too
does his aching to explore. He loves the winter, at least until January snows. There
comes enough of a good thing. He turns around and he slowly heads home. There
is just something about taking a walk on a snowy evening.
“Cold, my breathing
like a fog
Summer’s over
No more birds to sing
their song
Steps, my dirty
tracks left in the snow
Bruised and battered
I’ve gone as far as I
can go
I can see you and
your candle a light beyond the trees
Hear a voice from in
the distance calling out to me
Come on in from the
cold
Come on in from the
outside”
With just a
few days before Christmas, the storm hit hard and it hit heavy. The air was
whipping white, stinging, jagged, cutting. It was thick, an almost moving fog
of ice and snow. They watched the fury from their living room window. Well into
the evening it fell, it blew and it seemed unending. This would be the perfect
time for a walk on a snowy evening. They dressed in layers like their mothers
had always told them to do. Once secured, they headed into the whiteout. Outside
was unforgiving but both adventurers tramped into the cold December night. They
were both in heaven. There was nothing more rewarding than facing the fury of
nature in all her glory. The drifts were high, the sidewalks buried but on they
went out into the storm. They followed the path they would normally take on
summer days and fall moments. They moved together, the lead making marks for
the follower to step in. Print after print, the weight of the torrent swallowed
them whole. It was a gale but they moved forward, grunting, sweating and
shaking from the cold. They travelled past Christmas lights, and covered cars
and tracks all about in the snow. They weren’t the only ones slipping and sliding
on this cold winter’s night. The world changed as they wandered. It disappeared
under a two foot thick blanket of snow. Everything thing was fluffy and clean,
the bleakness of the storm for moments seemed hidden underneath it. Such beauty
can be hard to see. As the thrill transcended the cold, they rounded the
neighbourhood and headed back home. Come the morning, there would be no place
to go.
“Wind, don’t see her
but she’s there
Dead leaves are
moving
Her calling cards
across the air
I can see you in the
window, a shadow through the trees
Hear your voice now
from a distance calling out to me
Come on in from the
cold
Come on in from the
outside
Come on in from the
cold
Almost losing the
daylight”
She had to
be stealth. She had to be silent. He was, after all, mere feet beneath her as
she roamed from room to room on the second floor. Her bag was at the ready. In
her mind, she had packed it a thousand times before. She knew what she needed and what she had to
avoid. The beer had taken care of him, it always did and she could count on
that. The side of her face continued swelling, even though the bleeding had
stopped. His hands never gave a thing away. He was fond of hurting her in the
most inconvenient of ways. She even thought of doing it. She considered taking
a hammer and bashing the shit out of his head but she was not like him.
Regardless, her plan was for white and not for red. The back stairs were the
easy way out, through the kitchen and out the rear door. She had to make it
there first. She trembled at the thought of it. She stopped to spy on the
conditions outside, the window an alternative if he should wake. The world of
winter stood in contrast to the hell inside. The snow was tumbling, tossing,
blowing ever so slightly. It was a lovely sight to see, she thought to herself.
This time of year held great meaning for her. As a child, winter was a delight
and her favourite season. Her memories of it entwined with her late parents and
the life she once knew. She longed for that peace once again. Seven years of
torture was finally enough for her. It was getting worse and she knew it. Soon,
he would probably kill her in his fits of rage. It was time to go and now was
the time to do it. She grabbed her coat, adjusted for the weather and with her
bag in hand she crept down the stairway. Down the hall, across the room, he
was passed out in his chair, sprawled about on the ugly thing. She didn’t say
goodbye, not even in her mind’s eye. She just looked at him, silently cursed
him, then headed for the door. She almost fainted when he murmured a few words
in a false alarm. When the coast was clear, she tiptoed through the kitchen and
stepped out onto the back porch. As quiet as a mouse, she opened the main door and
then the screen door. Her heart raced when it squeaked from the cold. She
tasted it. Her first step out was emancipation. She entered the winter
wonderland of her freedom. It was like an Otherland unto itself. Step by step
she grew more confident, completely sure. She told herself that she was just taking
a walk on a snowy evening.
“I’ve been lost and
I’ve been broken
I’ve been buried in
the snow
I hear your voice and
I keep walking
I keep walking, don’t
know why I walk to you
Got nowhere left to
go
Come on in from the
cold
Come on in from the outside”
(From the Cold, Amy Grant 2016)
I love
winter, at least until after Christmas. I love the look of winter, the feel of
winter. I even love the cold of winter. I don’t mind shovelling it and I don’t
mind walking through it. Winter hides a million sins. It reminds us that there
is beauty in everything if you view it the right way. Snowy scenes of my youth
are etched in my noggin like visions of sugarplums that dance in my head. I
find it all so enchanting. This season is rich in majesty and splendour
regardless of how one feels about the temperature. Yes, winter can be
inconvenient. It can be dangerous. It can be peaceful and reassure us of the seasons
to come. While I much prefer Autumn above all else, it is winter that holds a
close second. It’s the only way I can take a walk on a snowy evening.
Photo
Marvellous...I almost feel I am there x
ReplyDeletethats a high compliment ...thank you
DeleteTrue ;) x
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