Snow Teacher

In the silence of earliest light, I rise and breathe snow. White covers the thin remains of winter, freezing what has been to make space for what is now, and opens a vast, blank page for what is possible. I walk. Snow floats in tiny crystals hovering, then dancing, thawing so tears are snowdrops on my cheeks. I breathe snow. I breathe. I notice.

I see tiny boot prints alongside paw prints halting in a snow angel. A velvet white birch branch pokes up from the half shoveled sidewalk. Two inches of snow balance on a splinter thin twig, daring a breath of wind to knock it over. A shovel scraps, neighbors chat in bell-like voices. On a quiet street, I hear only the icy tap-tap-tap of a million snowflakes clinking on the already crystal covered landscape. Hot, honey sweet coffee warms my throat, lips tingle with tiny ice crystals on my coffee cup lid.  The hot and ice mingle in one sip, in one world, in one life, in oneness. I walk. A child says, “Hi lady. It is snowing.”

Inside, snow plops on the hallway floor, shakes down from my coat and melts, reminding me that everything changes. Snow melts to water. A broken heart cracks, aches, and mends. Life teaches and keeps teaching until we learn what we need to know.  

I look out at the snow as my cheeks thaw, my toes warm, and one last ice clump shakes from my long braid. I curl up and sip the last, too sweet swallow of coffee. My heart and the snow remind me that yes, even the bitter cold contains warmth. I am grateful.