The snow is piling up. It was supposed to be leaving by now, melting and trickling down into the earth to feed the soil and replenish the waterways that seem so far away from where I sit. The temperatures have slowly been rising and a season of change is seeping in, the decomposing leaves and dormant plant life beginning to sneak the scent of dirt and spring into the air. Each recent morning I have questioned my choice to put on boots instead of shoes, and several days have found me outside without a scarf and, once, without a jacket.
But this morning the snow is piling up. The flakes are thick and heavy and drag the branches down. The branches that have just begun to bump with hidden buds waiting to explode. The sky is cold gray and it is hard to delineate between the snow and the clouds, even though the brightness of the day is unmistakable, the hidden sun still making itself known. It seems like there was an overnight conspiracy to slow us all down, to have us stop and appreciate the quiet stillness of our world…but that is not what I see when I look outside.
I see each flake as another thing that stands in my way of doing what I want to do on a Saturday in mid-march. I want to clear the debris from the yard and start planning our summer landscape. I want to put on sneakers and head out for a long, meandering walk that requires sunglasses and ends with my sweatshirt tied around my waist, with warm air grazing my bare arms. I want to sit on our patio and do absolutely nothing except soak in the newness of spring and the promise of summer.
But the snow continues to pile up. Each flake is yet another thing that keeps me stuck. Each flake, piling up higher and higher, buries my initiative. I know that this is short-lived and that the snow will recede, making space for walks and long, unstructured days. I know that each flake is not, in fact, another thing that I have to deal with, dispose of, confront….but sitting here, on my couch, I can’t help but feel the weight of my world mirrored in the falling snow. There is so much that keeps coming at me, down on me, threatening to bury me. And my shovel is so small in contrast.