All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
Yesterday it snowed; it’s snowing still.
In big, fat flakes coating corners of windows, sagging tree branches in the yard, quieting the neighborhood. There’s something curious about the snow, something that makes day 321 in quarantine (yes, I really counted) feel just a little bit different, a little lighter, like maybe there’s something to look forward to.
Yesterday my five year old bounced out of bed with an air of excitement. He ran to the window and looked out with an eagerness I haven’t seen on his face in weeks. The light outside is almost blinding; the stillness hits differently.
Where were we just one year ago? Nights out, shoulder to shoulder with friends, hugs goodbye, dinners shared in intimate restaurants. Our children making brand new friends on the playground, holding hands, a togetherness we felt then forgot when we got into bed each night. Sighing in relief after another busy day, dreaming of a few spent doing nothing.
Then here we are, in the now, some of us who never liked the snow taking on a different perspective, maybe one of appreciation for shoveling the walk, spending a day in the cold, dressing and undressing and redressing the kids in their winter gear, slipping back inside for a hot shower.
We’ll spend the coming days wrapped in our snowy blanket, enjoying the temporary change in scenery; and when the sun takes the reigns and thaws the drift, we’ll remember where we are.