My love of snowstorms was likely inherited from my mother, even if never voiced it until we were both adults. In our childhood, my brother and I loved snowstorms as much as any other kid, especially the way they gave the opportunity for a missed day of school. Back then, Mom and Dad were more concerned with shoveling and getting to and from work to enjoy them much, but in recent years Mom has explained how she loved being inside during a snowstorm, especially in the Boston condo.
I think she always felt that way, as a snowstorm provided a pause in the hectic pace in our daily life. It suspended and arrested the non-stop velocity of a working mother’s many jobs, the way it stopped and stilled the world. Nature wins out in the end, and if the lesson is to slow down and inhabit the moment, the lesson will be learned, from one Mother to another.
On a recent late-afternoon where one of the first snowstorms of the season arrived, my Mom and I were texting to see how the other was doing. It was almost evening, but the snowfall lent the night more light in that way of solace that makes up for winter being winter. The snow nestled into the outreached arms of the pine trees and dogwoods, which would hold until the winds arrived the next day. For all night and morning, the snow stayed this way – a beautiful way for winter to announce its impending arrival.
