As Pure as Snow Angels

So here's my snow angel from a few years ago. Half frozen in the half light, but never wanting to go inside.

And the snow is here again and it obliterates the blandness of the street. It fuels dreams and desires and opens up pristine vistas.

Here's the snow angel today. Pure and cleansed with never an impure thought. Somewhat like me. (pause as coughing fit takes over). How quickly we lose our innocence.

Snow makes me think of the mountains. The day when I was alone on the glacier and the world was a silver, stripped down wonderland that flitted away from me at the sweep of my arm, the sun glinting on my skis as I moved down the slope.

Then I recall the night on the lake, the purple skies sinking over the mountains as the cold, hard lights of St. Moritz glinted across the ice and a coldness crystallized the very stars.

And now I think of all the silent glades as the full moon looms large overhead. We can walk hand in hand East of Eden, West of the Carpathians for hours absorbed in each other and never let a soul cross out our footprints in the snow.

 

Snow at the Dismal Swamp Canal, NC (David Macaulay)

We can lose ourselves in our thoughts and each other in a place faded out on the map where the decay of the earth is iced over by the driven snow.