At first, i thought i'd go for a swim. our indoor pool is housed in glass and i liked the idea of swimming through a blizzard. but the trees called so i grabbed my coat and camera and went outside. walking through snow is grand, so grand it's almost not exercise. and snow covered trees are even grander. birch trees especially are almost too wonderful to believe--white on off-white, just off enough to know where snow begins and tree ends. some trees have branches low enough to show the process of snow becoming ice.
For a few minutes i look for the deepest snow and start booting my way through it. too deep, and when i manage to pull my foot out, the boot stays firmly encrunched. it takes a bit of struggle to reunite foot and boot. amazingly my asthma doesn't act up, and the cold air feels splendid. in this moment, i am almost at home in my body, as if it, like the trees and the snow, belongs here. the playground behind the church--the stately episcopal church that is home to the jesus ragdoll i love so much-- is full of parents and sledding kids, and the world seems to think it's really a currier and ives painting after all.
Now it's turning to dusk, and lights begin to dapple several windows. a few homes haven't yet taken down christmas, and christmas shapes emerge with the houselights. no sense of incongruity, only of timelessness, as if the snow and the lights make it christmas anyway, in a few moments that capture eternity as blake must have experienced it. time to go back inside.
Tomorrow, if the snow is still around, i'll go for that swim.