Every year when there's snow I enjoy the snow covered coffee table - it has about 9 inches of snow on top. I wanted to lift it into the living room snow and all, and sit there with a coffee while my photo was taken. This was not seen as a good idea and was not countenanced by the House Management. Pity. Might still do it if I'm in by myself. Anyway I rejoice in gently fallen snow that settles in carefully considered peacefulness, an accumulation of crystals of unique specificity, acting together in an informal architecture that is beautiful to contemplate.
I mean contemplate. I've sat looking at the snow several times this week when I've been home, letting its peacefulness slowly penetrate a mind at times like a mental tumble drier, allowing the cold to penetrate and heighten awareness of heartbeat and rhythm, grateful for the dazzle of reflected sunlight, and gazing at the soft edged shapes that invite touch, but which I refuse to spoil by doing so.
The spirituality of snow would be a good title for a thin book exploring the theological significance of snow - miraculously maintained snow flake uniqueness yet transience; accumulated whiteness that dazzles to make us see; covering a multitude of sins yet also giving new shape to the landscape; and the capacity of snow to contain in crystallised geometry the water of life. And the latent opportunities for fun, snowballs, snowpeople (snowman is gender exclusive), sledging and skiing and snowboarding.
Such a book might be entitled after Job 38:22 "Hast thou entered into the treasures of the snow". By the way that verse provided the title idea of Elizabeth Goudge's autobiograpy "The Joy of the Snow". It is a strange, beautifully writtten, gently interrogative account of her upbringing and writing career.
The photo below was taken of Smudge enjoying apres-ski hospitality.
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