Snow now blankets the ground in New Hampshire. The maple and birch trees are bare of leaves but full of snow. The air is crisp and cold. When it’s snowing, the air has a kind of sound that is difficult to describe. It’s got a texture to it as if someone were brushing the air with a stiff brush. Other sounds seem to recede into the background, and I’m left to listen to the snowflakes as they fall. It’s amazing how peaceful and tranquil it can be.
It has snowed twice this past week, accumulating in total around ten inches of snow. Snow banks along the road are now two to three feet high. I have been busy with my self-pushing electric snowblower, clearing our driveway, which runs up hill from the street towards our house.
More snow is expected today, so I’ll be busy. I don’t mind the work. In fact, I enjoy it. Some people curse the snow and can’t wait to be rid of it. Not me, I love it.
Now that I’m retired, I don’t have to worry about getting to work on time. Even so, people in New Hampshire are used to dealing with snow and for the most part are nonchalant about it. What I like most about snow on the ground and in the trees, apart from its beauty, is its contrast with the heat of the summer months. The change of the seasons, each with its own characteristics, adds variation in the passage of the year such that each day does not pass with relentless uniformity. Each day has its special treasures for us to discover. Weather comes and goes, and if we can move with the flow, we can enjoy the riches that each day has to offer.
I’m getting ready for a walk outside later today and I’m looking forward to hearing the bristling sound of snow falling, the sound of peace and calm. Then I’ll be back going up and down the driveway with my snowblower.