Even this season will go by too quickly. Have we gone sledding enough? Why haven’t we hit up the frozen lakes with our skates yet? Will the crows come back and roost in our trees, silent and communing, or was my chance at seeing them, taking their picture, imbibing them that one night when the temperature dropped far, far below zero?
The snow is swirling today. Floating up and then down, dusting the top of my car and melting only to freeze again. The world through frosted glass. So satisfying when I scrape my viewpoint clean of ice, the sound of it coming off is muffled in the morning, echoes as people start their cars, let the engines run, and scrape away to start their day.
Swirling snow is capricious snow. Fairy snow. Falling toward your tongue only to alight on your cap, stick to the threads and present itself before melting into formless water. Just a brief and tumbling turn as something once in a lifetime before returning to the mundane world in which your neighbor and you are indistinguishable, a rushing mass.
Trees groaning in the wind, under the weight. Frogs freezing and filling their veins with glucose. Snakes joining and writhing together in underground conferences that last till the first melt. Purple flies laying eggs on lakeside thrushes, forming balls that hold yummy larva. Bears fat and giving birth. Chickadees thrumming about eating to keep their heart rate above zero. Otters in their dens, coons sleepy and under a blanket of deep snow.
People, out and about, blessed mobility regardless of season.
