R.M. Dolin, October 16, 2021
I think of Paris, like I always do when life forcefully has me in retreat. It's odd I've been there so many times, but never in autumn. I imagine Versailles in the afternoon as parks and gardens ready themselves for winter. Snow came early here, it didn't stick but nonetheless impressed we have a long season to look forward to.
I have a complex relationship with snow that's only been furthered by age. The first big storm finds me in my best mood, feeling I can conquer the world and absolutely anything and everything is possible. I love being outside in snow, having nature humble me as I flirt with winter, letting her tease me with danger while teaching me to reach deep inside to push past the struggle just to stay in place. The most wonderful thing in the world is being alone in a forest after a heavy snow when tree branches hang low from their added burden. Even rabbits seem too serious to break the pristine solitude with their silly hops, skips, and playful jumps. There's a moment just before dawn when you're as close as one can get to standing beside God. When wind still sleeps and the forest has a quiet defying the senses, as if snow absorbs every sound, every breath, and the absolute stillness leaves you in a sense of serenity that can't be equaled anywhere else. It must be that God's come to stand with you like an artist admiring his latest work. He knows there's nothing he can add magnify the moment so simply waits for the sun's arrival, and like you, can't imagine being anywhere else. As dawn streaks through snow-ladened branches, squirrels come out to play, but with reverence, scoot quietly along the lower branches not wanting to be the ones who shatter the silence. From the distance, a elk steps into the open with her wobbly calf, pushing hard through chest deep snow so her baby can walk unhindered, just as Moms are supposed to do. She scratches the ground exposing a patch of high meadow grass as her baby strives to blaze a trail of self-determination. As the sun reflects off the forest floor, first drops of melting tree branch snow bounce off your canvas coat, telling you it's time to let God and nature get back to doing what they do. Wind is finally awake, and with a burst here and blush there, blows heavy snow off burdened branches to free the forest of responsibility, while reminding the mischievous squirrels who's in charge. Your footsteps crack the crusted snow in ushered echoes you should leave. You smile past your departure, knowing this is just the first of a burgeoning winter filled with such mornings. It's an easy peaceful smile you long ago learned to cherish.
