Winter Fluff
All of a sudden, there was a snowstorm.
It was the first time I had experienced a real winter on the east coast. We came here for some unexpected family business. After a couple of months, I started to understand the deep sadness buried in movies about winters in the New England area. Snowflakes are giant and somewhat wet. I had never associated snowflakes with the word weight. But when they dropped on my face, I felt the heaviness. The white is pure, at the same time so singular and glistening that it hurts my eyes.
White has many temperatures. Winter snow here has a blue hint. On most days when there is no snow, the sky gives out a lively blue, everything else gray. But even the blue is cold, just like that blue in the snow. Every day I wake up longing for that cup of steaming hot coffee as if that’s the only thing that could wrap myself up.
That’s not quite true.
This fluff can wrap me up, physically, too. Sometimes she gets confused and can’t decide which room she wants to stay in - we used to live in a loft, one open space with no separation. She would give it a thought and then lies down at the stairwell. That way, she can watch all the movements in the house and collect everyone when necessary.
She prances in the snow, blending into the white void, yet retaining her warm skin hue. She digs, crawls, bounces. Inevitably, like every doggie, she eats snow, picking one spot and another, savoring it as if there was not enough.
She’s a gleam of pure joy in the Winterland. I often hope that the backyard is not awfully calm after the storm passes. I wish there were some little animals, breezes along, with warm sunbeams. That’s a wish. Though the fluff can stir up zoomies and dramatic scenes, un-calming the yard, granting my wish.
