Snow Walk

In silence of morning, I rise and breathe snow.  White, clear, soft, covering the remains of the year, of the journey thus far in cold, quiet. Freezing what has been to make space for what is now. Opening a white vast page for what is possible. I walk. Snow floats in tiny crystals covering, hovering, floating, then dancing. Dancing over what has been frozen, thawing my tears to mingle and crystalize in snow-drops on my cheeks.  I breathe snow.  I breathe. I notice:

Tiny boot prints from a child along side floppy paw prints, halting in a snow angel. A velvet white birch branch poking up from the half-shoveled side walk. Two inches of snow balancing on splinter-thin twig daring a breath of wind to knock it over. A shovel scraps and neighbors chat. And on a quiet street I hear nothing but the icy tap-tap-tap of snowflakes by the millions clinking on the already crystal-covered landscape. Hot, peppermint mocha warms my throat as my lips tingle with the tiny ice crystals on my coffee-cup lid.  The hot and ice mingle in one sip, in one world, in one life, in oneness. I walk, A child says, "Hi lady. It is snowing."

The snow says breathe as melting ice-crusts plop on the hallway floor. Snow shakes down and melts and reminds me of this: everything changes. Snow melts to water, water evaporates into nothingness. Cold turns to warm to hot to cool to cold again. A broken heart leaks and aches and then mends. Life teaches and keeps teaching until we learn what we need to know.  

I look out at the snow as my cheeks thaw, my toes warm, and one last ice-clump shakes from my long braid. I have finally learned something. My heart leaks and aches and the snow reminds me that yes, even the cold contains warmth. I am grateful.