The fickle March skies vacillated all morning before they decided on a blizzard to shake things up. The muted horizon took on a darker shadow as the snowflakes erupted as far as the eye could see. Their mass exodus from the atmosphere was an immaculate moving blur. Disorienting and dizzying, the whimsical frozen flecks continued to invade in swirling armies. Collectively they formed a feathery dusting on everything in only a matter of moments.

Something ancient calms me each time that it snows. Something elusive and playful stirs when it is near. Regardless of the deadly potential winter holds in his quick frozen arsenal, I am not afraid of him. He has never raised a hand to harm me, for we have a long standing accord.

Instead, he inspires me with sparkling frost paintings on the windowpanes when I awaken in the morning. There is a playful affection in the cold nipping of my nose in the open Midwest wind. We play together whether there is sunshine or shadow. Sometimes when the theme of the day is dreary, he will do one of my very favorite tricks.

As the skies fill with heavy white flecks of frozen heaven, he will tear a spot in the cloud cover and release one lone tunnel of glorious bright light. The glow illuminates the skies and creates a breathtaking show of sparkling showering glitter- as if the world was a giant glass dome his magician’s hand was shaking.

We are forced to stop our one track self absorbed minds for just a moment in time- and stare dreamily out the window at the wonderland we are implanted in.

 


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