Thursday, March 22, 2012

spring snow

It snowed buckets last night.  End of March, it's spring now, what?  I had somewhere to be this morning, so happy to wake up to melting snow and slushy streets.

After the morning appointment my mom and I drove way out in the boondocks to check out a ranch for a family reunion in the future.  And by boondocks I mean true, in the sticks, miles on gravel road, horses, goats and cows, sweet river flowing by, boondocks.

Here's the thing about Oregon though, even the boondocks aren't that far from civilization.  We were only thirty-five minutes from a city of roughly 32,000 people, even though it felt like we had disappeared off the map.

And that's what I love about where I live: the ability to drive a short distance and be off the beaten path, away from the main and into the country.  Even though I am a city girl at heart, even though I need a Target nearby for grey days when my heart is sad, I love the country with its wide open skies and that feeling - you know the one - like God is closer than ever.

So out we drove, with B sleeping as the tires hummed over the pavement, bringing us closer with each passing mile to the hills draped with snow.

I love this valley.

Evergreens, gray skies, rain shower after rain storm, vivid green grass, home.  And when the sun shines here, we bask.  We take it in with slow breaths and long strolls, grateful for warmth on our bare arms.  And when it snows, oh that's the best time, for we go quiet.  When it snows it is as if the valley stops, everyone pausing to watch the flakes drift down, speechless at the wonder of green grass and black pavement turning to white.

After Charlotte died I lived in a paused state, wishing for one snowy night.  One night when the world would stop with me, be still, speak in hushed whispers in reverence of the weather.  It came two years late, my spring snow, but it still conjured silent beauty.

And this afternoon as we drove Dylan Thomas entered the car by way of an offhand comment.

Do not go gentle into that good night
Rage, rage against the dying of the light

Ah, yes.  If only she had fought, if only her spirit was meant to stay.  If only, if only, if only ...  But there, a whisper/hush/sigh from the backseat reminds me of what has come since, and how a little soul - my world, my heart, my rainbow - can heal the deepest of wounds.

1 comment:

  1. One of those snowflakes looks like a love heart. So cool.


thank you!


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