There's something romantic about the way snow dances down from the sky, and my family seems to have a knack for coaxing the snow to come. When we arrived in Mammoth there was hardly any to be seen, but come Sunday morning our world was covered in a soft, luxurious layer of the stuff, and it continued dancing down all day and night!
I am not overly fond of cold weather or being cold in general (blame in on southern California winters, or lack thereof), but the snow makes venturing out hard to resist. Snow is like the sky's way of apologizing. It's saying, "I'm sorry for covering up your beloved sun, and I'm sorry for chilling you to the bone, so here, take some snow. Dance around in this powdery-soft stuff for a bit and soon everything will be alright."
Who am I to resist such a friendly invitation? So I ventured out, and I didn't mind the chill that soon soaked into my legs and my face -- it kept me focused and feeling fresh. As I walked with my brothers, husband, and father I let myself fall in a way behind them to observe. The snow changes the way I look at the world around me as a place that was once filled with colors is suddenly turned to a place of white and shades of gray. Soon you are no longer able to discern the individual rocks along the creek's edge and the bare winter bushes are turned into small white mounds, and all the minute details are smoothed over, forcing you to look up to take in the world in its entirety.
It is a sort of 'forest for the trees' realization. When all is silent except for the rush of the creek and the crunch of your boots you're reminded to see 'the big picture', 'the grand scheme of things' and suddenly you don't feel so important, and it's a relief. Whatever you're feeling will fade, and the present will pass in the blink of an eye, so enjoy it. Relax your muscles and let the moment sink in. The earth will keep turning, you know, whether you have everything in order or not.