We got somewhere between 4.5 and 6 inches of snow on Wednesday night. Until Thursday morning, the snow this winter has been like the sugar on mini-wheats–a pretty coating adding a certain glamour to a fundamentally recognizable breakfast cereal.
On Thursday morning I woke up in a whole different world.
Inside our house things were the same, but outside everything was unfamiliar, like our house had been dropped from Chapel Hill into Oz. (I was about to say minus the witch, but I did wake up at 1 a.m. to flashes lighting up the whole sky, an eerie creaking sound, and maniacal laughter. It could have been an unlikely combination of a transformer blowing on Franklin Street, trees groaning under the weight of the snow, and college kids deciding the middle of the night was the best time to try out the best sledding hill in town (our street), but being picked up and dropped into Oz explains the weird lights and creepy sounds all in one go.)
I let Sasso out to play and she went wild, leaping up and down and around in circles, chasing snowballs and plunging her snout into the snow, only to pull it back out, freshly adorned with a snow ‘stache. She ran with total abandon around the yard for a solid 45 minutes, demonstrating an enthusiasm for snow I haven’t felt since I was 8.
I was eager to see Battle Park at its most exotic and with the snow at its freshest, so then we took a walk. Although we walk these trails every day, I felt like I was seeing an entirely new forest–more like Narnia than Oz. (Really without the witch this time–it won’t take Aslan showing up to melt this snow, just 48 hours.)
Our poor cedar was not the only tree forced to bend to the will of the snow.
We came back from our walk to find our street fully transformed from sleepy (if steep!) neighborhood street to kickass sledding hill.
It was another surreal, serene day, another vacation from the normal, fast pace of life. The wonder and the silence of the snow–and, perhaps just as much, the excuse not to run errands–made last week the most relaxing week I can remember in a long time. Perhaps I can resolve how I feel about snow more than in my last post; maybe I’ve grown to love it again by living in a place where the disruption of the snow is a rare joy and brings a chance for a new perspective on home, instead of snow being the harsh and constant reality of winter.