Loa on the Go

I almost forgot the sound that fresh snow in the city makes – the softness and quiet given to everything in its path. The wet sound of slushy roads, the firm resistance of every branch and stubborn flower in meeting with this new weight.

I almost forgot because my AirPods were in my ears, listening to my daily rundown of war, climate change, cruelty. But look there! The tracks of a rabbit, crepuscular, who likely maneuvered the snow at dawn, at its freshest. A blue house also catches my eye, dusted with snow and with smoke emerging from its chimney like in a storybook. A man says, “is that snow?!” to his black lab, who wiggles enthusiastically in response.

I know it won’t stick, this quiet duvet. A gift for my best friend’s birthday perhaps? A wintery gift of water, very appropriate for a Pisces, falling on the day she was born. A gift gorgeous, tender and strong, like her.

Unlike a present however, my morning walk has no neat bow. The world is still so heavy and so gorgeous. I will be grateful to warm my hands and shake off my coat, understanding that my appreciation of cold and precipitation comes from a place of privilege. I must listen to the news, but also the rabbits, the laden boughs, and the beating of my heart when I opened up the curtains to see freshly fallen snow.