So we had two heavy (by current experience) snowstorms back-to-back in early December. Then we spent most of January reveling in the sixty-plus degree sunshine in our short sleeves. February was mercifully brief. I saw my first robins of spring on St. Patrick's Day. And now, on the first full days of spring, we are getting socked by "The Blizzard of Aught Six."
Wazzup with that?
I am not complaining. We need the moisture. And the storm seems to be much less drastic than predictions would have warranted, here in Bellevue anyway. Besides, there's something almost holy about the stillness of the air during a lull in the snow. It's a cathedral-like hush that makes me understand the human need to acknowledge a universal Greater Power.
And the small sting of the cold air on one's face is downright refreshing.
I thought of this earlier today, when I was dragging my trash out to the curb for its weekly pickup. What the heck I was doing up at 5:20 a.m. I do not know. I'm almost never awake at that time of day unless I stay up all night to get there. But something woke me today, and I am glad it did. That enveloping stillness is a wonderful [in its original sense, as in "full of wonder" or "producing wonder."--Ed.] experience.
Things are back to mundanity now. The snowplows are rattling up and down the street. The sun is shining. For all I know, the snow may be melting already. But I am still glad I got to treasure that perfect silence this morning. I'm sure, however, that I'll be taking a long nap this afternoon!
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