01 December 2011

A snowfall kind of love

I keep getting the words of Ingrid Michaelson's "Snowfall" stuck in my head ... a snowfall kind of love, that quiets the world.

I don't know if I'm a snowfall kind of girl. I think maybe I am. I love the sensation of tumbling. Not falling, but maybe rolling down hills, or spinning until you think you'll teeter and fall over. I like the idea of snow angels, or just laying on my back in the snow with my mouth open wide enough to take it in a little. I like the warm spots of winter; heated mattresses and thick fluffy quilts and blankets, and the feeling of a sweater or flannel.


I woke up this morning to look out and see a grey day. At first I thought this would be terrible, but it turned out the grey was just a precursor to a sudden snowfall--well, not sudden; it was already forecast, but after living most of my life in Pennsylvania I've come to the happy place of distrusting weather predictors. Meteorologists are worse than fortune tellers, because they never admit they're wrong. If it doesn't snow, it's because that little warm patch of air they predicted came through just as they thought it would, even though the day before they swore up and down we should expect no less than five inches. I guess that means I should put my faith instead in grey sky moments. I know I don't trust blue skies either. They are just as deceptive as the weathermen (and women). Though I have always loved the days of walking in a blue-skied, sun-shined rainfall. It always feels like the sky is playing tricks.

Tricky vixen.

This is the time of year my mind's radio gets stuck on repeat. It seems every five minutes I'm hearing a song of snow. Whether it's Ingrid Michaelson serenading the sky to bury her in its quiet love, or Joni Mitchell wishing she had a river she could skate away on. Winter is a quiet season; even when the boughs are weighted down with snow and snap and come crashing down, it seems muted, soft. Sometimes I wish it was this buried and blown away season all year long.

I think what I really want is a cup of hot cocoa. And a tub of whipped cream, to skate away on.

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