It Snowed All Night

It has snowed all night, and it will snow all day today. This is beautiful. This is a real winter day, the real white in the winter night that everyone will remember. 

There is a foot of snow covering everything. Little flakes fall gently and softly, brushing my face as they settle on my clothes. There is a mild breeze, yet it is not biting cold as I had imagined. This is a blizzard, my beloved tells me, it is measured by how much snow falls, not by the force of the gale that brings it. Indeed, you learn something new every day. 

We pick up shovels to clear up the driveway. It looks easy, I think, but I am mistaken. Snow is fluffy and light, but try shifting a ton of it, and you realize, one must be sturdy to survive in this climate. Nature is sneaky in how she looks!

Thousands, millions of tiny little flakes, floating down gently, and then a gust of wind might push them on with more force. Hundreds of little flakes together form an ocean of snow. Everything takes on a vivid, vibrant colour against the expanse of solid white. The brick red of our neighbour's house. The dark green of the evergreen trees on the mountain. The soft orange of leaves still clinging onto branches, by a slim thread. The gold of the dry grass, cloaked by the snow. The grey of the sidewalk, peeking out through where we shoveled. The brown of the bark of trees, standing solidly against all weather. 

Everyone is at home, warm by a fire, drinking a bowl of hot nourishing soup, watching a sports event being played out in a different city in a warmer climate. My beloved is curled up under the blanket. I snuggle close to him, and savour the heat of his body. I ask him if we can play. He smiles at me, holds me close, and we drift off to sleep. 

But barely a half hour later, he wakes, and walks about to taste the blizzard for himself. He returns, and dresses me up warmly, in a cap and jacket, in boots and gloves. His fingers are firm yet gentle, careful as one might be with a child too young to be out in the world on her own. I am reminded of Bambi being taken by his mother to see the meadow for the first time. 

We drive out to our favourite place, tucked away in a unique little corner of the mountains. It was where I realized he is beloved to me. A little trail makes its quiet way through the trees and rocks, running alongside a tiny trickle of a stream, sometimes ascending and other times descending. The trees and bushes may sometimes obscure the path, and at others leave it widely visible. And today, all of it, path, bushes, trees, rocks, stream, was covered in two feet of snow. 

My beloved throws a fistful of snow at me, and I throw one right back. the snowfight escalates till we are on top of each other, rolling and tumbling over the soft powder, laughing like little children. Shhh, he says, someone might see us. 

Does it matter?

A little clearing emerges between the trees, covered in fresh untouched powder. We can hear the chirping of a few lonely birds, but even they have not set foot on the snow. I can jump and dance like a filly, watching my feet plunge easily through the soft mass, and there is nobody to stop me. Nobody to call me silly. Nobody to tell me to act my age. I can be a child again. I can be a cute tiny snowbunny. 

It is quiet. Insanely quiet, but for the occasional chirping of birds. There is no music to be heard from the houses. There is no squeaking of forest animals. No rustling of leaves, which have all fallen. No babbling of the stream, which has now frozen. Even the murmur of the wind is faint, it can barely be discerned. As I hold my beloved close, the loudest sound in my ears is his breathing and his heartbeat.

I bring you a song, and I sing as I go, for I want you to know, that I'm looking for romance. 
I bring you a song, in the hope that you'll see, when you're looking at me, that I'm looking for love.  
I'm seeking that glow, only found when you're young and it's May, only found on that wonderful day, when all longing is through. 
I'm seeking that glow, only found when a thrill is complete, only found when two hearts gently beat, to the strength of a waltz that's both tender and new. 

It seems the night will have themes from Bambi. 

This is a world of hidden treasure and secret beauty, of woodland faeries and forest spirits, of quiet music and still dance. Are we only visitors? Perhaps so, but our passport is perpetual, it will never be revoked. And as my beloved and I walk back towards civilization, we make a promise: we shall be back to witness as the snow melts and the leaves return to the trees.

Random Conversation: Are We Players?

Last night, my friend and I were sharing some gossip about our mutual friends, catching up as I had been out of touch for a long time.

She told me about this one guy, who has always sworon to us that he would never get into a relationship, on account of his mother who didn't approve, and his own observation of his friends who went through dramatic roller-coasters in their own love lives.

"He's become a player," she said.
"What?"
"He's become a player."
"WHAT? Player? What? But... but he always swore he wanted to stay away from women! What happened?"
"He grew up. He finally grew up, and his hormones kicked in, and he gave in to them."
"Oh my goodness..."
"Yeah, he's become a player."
"Doesn't it seem like every guy goes through this phase?"
"You think so? No... I know plenty of guys who aren't like this..."
"You're lucky then, because it seems like almost every guy I know has gone through this..."
"Do you think we are players?"
"What?"
"You and me. Do you think we are players?"
"You and me? No. No, we are not players."
"Hmmm..."
"I mean, we could be, if we wanted to. I don't see why not - we're both smart, educated, forward thinking, good-looking - reasonably good-looking at the least... we could be players if we tried. It would be so easy to toy with the hearts of boys. But I don't find within myself any desire to do so."
"Neither do I... oh well."