Thursday, January 2, 2014


there is something magical about snow. the way it sticks in your eye lashes or melts on your tongue. the way it makes the whole world sparkle. and as your eye catches one flake at a time and follows it the whole way down to where it lands, seeing its individuality for an instant before it holds hands to join the other flakes already sleeping, one can almost become convinced that the world is wholly and completely at peace.

and now, as my world slowly transforms into a real-life snow globe, i find myself sitting here. silently. the rest of my house asleep. they're snuggled in blankets up to their chins, breathing slow the deep breaths of sleep, and passing the night away. but i can't sleep. i don't want to sleep. i want to watch the magic happen. i want to share winter's secrets. but you have to listen closely, because the snow speaks barely above a whisper.

i remember being terrified to be the last one in the house awake as a child. i was certain that the instant my parents closed their eyes for the night, the monsters would open theirs. i remember occasional nights in middle school even, being inspired by an especially captivating book to reconsider an early bedtime, regretfully realizing my bravery left as quickly as the lights upstairs could turn off. and so my white, long-eared friend "bunny" would wrap her arms around my shoulders and back-to-back we would climb the stairs....her thread-eyes looking behind, and my wide, frightened ones looking ahead. and that way we climbed the steep stairs in the old farmhouse on more than one occasion.

but now.

now i find the house to be peaceful as everyone slumbers, tucked into their warm, personal pocket between the sheets. those are the golden times. those are the times i can steal hours from the day. those are the times i can hear the thoughts that the rest of the day was too noisy to let through. and so here i sit- toes bare, sweatpants loose, and hair hastily pulled back away from my face. just listening to the s i l e n c e. and watching the large, feathery flakes fall.

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