Snow is beautiful. Sometimes you think about the beauty of the world and you think, “wow”. It has its own unique beauty, a loneliness unlike anything else. You don’t think about the loneliness of snow until you’ve been lonely. When you realize its cold doesn’t leave your bones for months and the thought of opening your front door to a foot fall of it tightens your heart. Because the act of trekking alone in a foot of snow is somehow a perfect representation of a wounded mind searching for an escape, for an answer, and unable to find one.
It’s the way it falls. Silent. Soft. And it leaves a pile that freezes on top of the surface. And it just keeps building. If we weren’t here to push it away, if the sun wasn’t here to melt it away, would it just keep building? Would if the sun doesn’t want to? Everything would just keep building.
It’s the way it feels. It’s heavy. It’s so light, but together it feels heavy. It’s deadly quiet but surrounded in a field of untouched snow you can feel it pressing on your ears. Like if silence could deafen you. The way it makes its way in through your ears. The way the cold creeps through your paper thin skin and takes a hold of your bones. If bones were insulate, mine have been cold for a long time. And I blamed the snow.
It’s how it leaves you feeling. How standing alone and looking at it makes you realize how lonely you actually are. Like walking a mile and hearing nothing but the sound of your shoes making contact with the soft flakes along with the deafening sound of the snow. With the cold. It makes you leave your shoe prints so you can check behind you. So you can see that yours are the only ones there. It is reminding you of the loneliness. As if the silence and the cold aren’t enough. You don’t realize how cold the snow is until you aren’t sharing it with another’s hands. With another body. When you crawl into bed at night and you can feel the hands of frost with a death grip on every bone in your body. It hasn’t left mine. I spite it.
I loved the snow. But beauty can be ugly. And I can say the words of how beautiful it really is, falling underneath a street lamp. Fallen on trees. Falling into your hands to be melted by a lover’s hands. It’s a beautiful concept in nature. But I can’t feel the beauty of it. Some things you can never feel again and some things can’t be undone. It will be many years before I can appreciate the beauty of snow again. I know it’s beautiful, I just don’t feel it. And knowing and feeling are two very different things, I’ve learned. I don’t hate the snow. I understand. I dread the next encounter I have with it in the winter, though.
I don’t blame it, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it anymore.