The thing about spring is, all the snow goes away. The earth sheds its dingy, grey mantle, leaving everything fresh and clean and alive. So, imagine my surprise when I stepped outside for a walk in late April, and it was snowing!
The ‘snow posse’ had surrounded the house with smudges of white wonder, miniature jellyfish floating in a sea of air. How relaxing! To float, so calmly, and target the perfect landing spot, a place to spend the eternity of a few seconds, for that is how long a snowflake lives in spring.
As I walked, shoulders hunched against the feathery assault, I suddenly noticed that snowflakes have shadows. I wanted to call the newspaper and break the story – “Local Man Makes Discovery – Snowflakes Have Shadows!”, but I soon realized that if I could see them, anyone could, and it wasn’t the scoop of the century. How had I missed such an obvious phenomenon in more than thirty winters? Why, I’ve seen an avalanche of snowflakes in my time!
I hadn’t been paying attention.
I paused in the meager light cast by a streetlamp, watching the giant flakes chasing their shadows to the ground, like erratic children playing tag. Fascinated with the gentle dance on the sidewalk, I was filled with the reverence born of full attention.
For a few, brief moments, the falling snowflakes became my universe. All senseless mind chatter melted away, revealing a joyful feeling of wonder. By paying attention, I had invested in, and of, myself. The rewards were equal to the investment, for every moment yielded a golden voyage of discovery.
Next time I want to travel to someplace wonderful, I won’t bother with a travel agent. I’ll just go for another walk.
Kevin Love, 2007
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