Saturday, November 26, 2011

Snow in Taiwan

When I was a kid I used to wake up to these magical mornings in the country, in the Colton house where it had snowed through the night and now when my eyes opened the world was covered in this silver sparkling white, this gleaming madness of powder blanketing the trees and the fields, the fence posts and the creek, the mountains and the rolling sky itself, in this perfect expanse of milky white.
You come to know it as a kid by the light through the window. It's the first thing you see. Warm on the inside, the heater turned up on high, and the cold air of the outside world creating this fog, this oven mist, calling to you, whispering that there would be no school today, no way to pass on the roads, a child's day for bundling in warm scarves and mittens, sleds hanging in the garage, rubber boots shaking in anticipation by the rickety back porch door.
I woke up this morning thinking about snow... Mom said it snowed this week out in Colton and the joy of that news just filled me with this sense of awe and sweetness. My mom is a baker of the highest quality, and so with snow comes chocolate fudge and marshmellows melting in cocoa mugs, and pies like...well, only appear in Disney movies, piping hot out of the stove with little birds crossing the crusts and leaving foot-tracks as if trailing off in the snow.
I sit in the light and read Billy Collins... he's sort of ridiculous in these moments, sipping coffee with my sweatshirt hood up over my ears like a little boy of years gone by. But there is no snow on the ground. No frosty flakes falling, no silver sweetness to salute my saliva as I catch it dropping form the sky.
But memory is strong, isn't it? I'm someone with a powerful memory, and I live in those moments as much as I can. I don't forget anything...and someday I'll have snow in the morning again. Someday, but not today.

No comments:

Post a Comment