Aspects of Snow

Snow. I had forgotten the stillness of a storm when cars no longer rush up and down the street and the only sounds are flakes landing. Boston had a snowstorm last night that covered the red brick sidewalks and settled inches on top of the iron railings and steps leading to the brownstone attached houses. I had not, however, forgotten the warmness of being inside with hot tea and good music as we read, played games or just talked.

I love snow. When I first moved to Switzerland I lived in a small village with 600 people and 6000 cows. Snow fell often. The cows stayed in the barns, the waterfall behind the house froze. Walking through the village was like being in a postcard.

Likewise on my frequent visits to my cousins in Garmish we would walk my two small Japanese chins through the snow. The "feathers" on their legs would become chunked with tiny snowballs. One loved playing it, the other preferred staying in curled up by the radiator. Garmish had the walking paths in the mountains cleared almost as fast as the flakes fell. We paused at a restaurant with an outdoor terrace sheltered from the wind and when the sun came out it was warm enough to eat apple strudel and drink hot chocolate. Sun on the snow covered trees surrounding the restaurant was so bright that sunglasses were mandatory.

Geneva on the other hand doesn’t get much snow. It may snow at 500 meters but the city, which is under a cloud most of the winter, gets rain. The few times it does snow accidents abound. So many diplomats living there are from warmer climates cause accidents because they don’t know how to drive under snowy conditions. As a New Englander learning to handle a car on snow and ice was part of learning to drive.

When I am in Argelès in the South of France, snow is even rarer, although the few times it has fallen it is a cause for all the neighbors to talk about it well into the summer tourist season.

Thus this holiday storm brought back lots of good memories. As a child growing up in Reading, listening to the no school announcements was torture for they were read alphabetically. For my daughter living in Boston the torture was much shorter. There was the snowy morning when the no school announcement brought a happy child bouncing into my bed. The dog joined us, probably because we had donuts and hot chocolate as we lay there watching the snow falling out the window.

Last night I went to bed leaving the curtains open so I could watch the snow float to the ground. There was the same stillness, the same sense of peace. This morning the snow was still pristine, purer than any wedding dress white as the snow glistened in the sunshine.

Storms are a reminder to me that I cannot control so much of the world. Better to enjoy its gifts, a moment of white peace in an otherwise rushed existence.