First Snow
This is the gift the world has given him:
snow in hallows on roofs, branches, streets,
the long white candle on the window,
burning to dusk while snow fills up the city—
all these white contours filling his life—
starlight behind daylight wherever he gazes
~Jonathan Moya
Haiku - Snowflakes
snowflakes
on my lashes
tears of joy
~Orense Nicod
The classic philosophical, theological curiosity is the number of angels that could dance on the head of a pin. I’ll leave that dilemma to the theologically bored and speculative. This morning I am more fascinated by an earthier query: how many snowflakes can gather on the head of a hydrangea, at just the perfect angle of repose? How many can squeeze themselves onto a pine needle, like birds on a wire, until the whole assemblage spills on this morning following the first snow of the season?
The questions only serve the smile that has elicited them. I accept that the precipitation likely inconveniences the lagging “Black Friday” shoppers, and inhibits “Small Business Saturday” browsers and diners. There will likely come a time, in February or March, when the sight of flakes descending will evoke a cursing groan, but here in the waning days of November, while Thanksgiving leftovers still crowd the refrigerator shelves, the exhilaration is giddy. I shiver - partly from the crisp autumn air, but mostly from a wondrously childlike joy.
There is a brief wince of course. For all of our preparations for winter around the farmstead that have lulled us into smug satisfaction, I am haunted now by the details yet undone - like removing the mower deck from the tractor and attaching, in its place, the snowblower. Scraping the shovel across the inches accumulated on the front porch, additional items join the list. Like locating my leather work mittens and checking our supply of ice melt. More straw bales are needed in the chicken yard, and the bees need a final check.
And it will all be gone before very long. The melting has already begun in the white crystalline light of morning. It's not yet winter after all, despite this brief foretaste.
For now, though, it is enough to relish this first snow’s morning.
To shiver.
To tally that crowded pine needle.
And like the child I never want to forget how to be,
to smile.
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