The Wisdom of Snow

(and Toes)

This poem was recently published as “One Midnight Bath in Winter” in Bella Grace Magazine, Issue 34.

A quiet rush, arrival

on the sharp wings of the north wind

that had gusted through two days prior

and now murmurs away in the bare tree tops -

Here, at midnight,

appear stunning, perfect crystals

timid at first, then confident

in their dance toward our planet

they cover

- peacefully, silently -

everything in sight and beyond

feed the mind’s eye with stories

of everlasting winter and the lightness of fairies

of wings of angels and the childhood magic of glitter.

Steaming from my hot, late bath

I dare to sneak to the door, unlock it

open up to the the possibilities outside

and my naked toes

- still pink from the water and the piney bubbles -

venture across the threshold, brazenly

to touch the

blazing, shining blanket that illuminates the shadows

and numbs the noise and stills the thought,

stills the night,

stills me.

My toes, they curl and shiver and retreat, so

I bring the right foot on the rug to dry them

and extend my shy left toes, their pads

into this wonderland of sensation

I can almost feel the snow sizzle from the heat of my skin

and I feel alive, so alive

on this February night in my pajamas

as I greet the cold

gift the sky has dispatched

. . . .

a reminder

that even in the darkest, bleakest of times

there’s wonder to behold

and joy to find in tingles and tickles

and mother nature is at her best when

we … just … stop.

When we just be.