They are calling for snow...

December 7, 2016

Kansas City, Missouri

They are calling for snow, the people who spend their days shouting out weather terms. The sky is hangs heavily in a dusty white fog.  It's exciting, isn't it?   The idea that something much bigger than us is coming and we wait in expectation. Sure, all the people will complain about the snow, but it does no good.  It will fall with or without your permission. You can delight or disgust, it will dance through the air and fall on noses and frost windows and turn the spiny trees into a shimmering wonderland.

I'm always struck by the way that people loathe weather, how it interferes with their lives and the ways they find such inconvenience in the facts of science and latitude and longitude. I read a book this fall about a future society that was sealing the land under a snow globe of sorts, to protect the people from the big bad weather. Surely it was rich with propaganda, but the people were corralled and controlled by their fears of howling winds and cold air. The people were forbidden to step foot on the seashore, forbidden to touch the water with their toes. But, as usual, there were those who would not be controlled, those are my people. They would sneak out into the dangerous night and marvel at the stars, dance in the water than kissed the shore.  They would tell their daughter of the illusions of their society, that the perfect sun and mild temperatures could not rival the wonders that existed just beyond the veil that was their snow globe. 

I'd recommend it, you can find more here. 

But, I wonder, when we fight against the ways of nature, what energy are we wasting? What love is lost when a rainfall ruins our day? When the cold draws us indoors? We are but small creatures on this great earth. We are not the timekeepers or the cloud men that throw ice, snow, and rain upon the world.  Permission has not been asked, will you accept the thunderstorm?  Because, the green world thirsts and rivers are hungry.  The cold winds paint the leaves of fall and help them drop into the earth.  The bitter winters make trees resilient and gorgeous and strong. Then in spring, as we turn from our place in the sky, we stretch our arms, both trees and people alike, to receive the warmth and the begin anew. Color returns and we revel in life.

In our back yard, there are three large trees. They were the last to burst with foliage and this fall, they were the first to drop their black walnuts and leaves. Now they stand exposed against the heavy sky and  I count five branches that are severed and cracked. It was easy to hide when the trees were full and green, but now we see that the health of the tree cannot sustain the whole, that the broken pieces must fall away.  We will collect them and make fires. New branches will grow.

Weather is the poetry of time and the story of man. We will bundle up babies that will frolic in the snow. Then un-bundle again and kiss rosy cheeks and warm chilly hands. We will serve warm drinks and gather in, not in fear, but in the simple sweetness that the cold invites. We will share blankets and hunt down socks and look out windows onto a frosted world.