Winter Walk

Today was a record snowfall for St. Louis, and aside from my quick trip to the grocery store, we stayed close to home. I supervised Ben in multiple craft projects (a construction paper chain, paper snowmen), and Tom made cookies and took Ben outside.

Tonight, though, snow was still falling and I needed to go out. I put on hat, boots, and gloves and followed the car tracks down the nearly deserted street. The sky had the luminous look of a snowy night: although I took a flashlight so any cars could see me, I could see just fine without it. Snowflakes hissed against my coat, and I could hear the sounds of my own breathing and footsteps. The air smelled of wood smoke.

I saw few people. A few cars passed me, and a neighbor waved when she recognized my hooded figure. A man shoveled snow from his side porch. A family stood in a doorway and said goodbye as their guests piled into a station wagon.

The falling snow gave the landscape a black-and-white look, except for people’s Christmas lights. Snow gauzed the outdoor lights, but the Christmas trees in front of picture windows shone warm and bright. I loved the feeling of being solitary out in the cold while knowing I had a cozy home to go back to.

When I returned to my street, I fell easily back into the stride of my first footsteps. Walking into the wind, I was stung by snowflakes that melted on my cheeks and eyelids. Instead of going in the house right away, I went around to the back yard and brushed off the swing. In only a moment, my pants were soaked through, but I leaned back and sat still. I heard an odd rasping sound that I thought was a car in the street—but then I realized it was the wind and snow moving through the papery leaves that still clung to the oak tree.

Inside, I changed into pajamas and slippers, then treated myself to another chocolate-cherry cookie. My cheeks are still flushed from the cold.

This photo courtesy of Tom.