After all the threats of a horrible ice storm, all Mother Nature was able to throw at us was 24-36 hours of freezing drizzle.  Bridges, overpasses and rural roads fell prey to the thin layer of ice, but urban roadways remained free of ice because they were too warm going into the event to support freezing.  The media hyped it, of course, as a “Winter Blast” or “Arctic Outbreak” or other similar nonsense.  To show the horrible devastation we suffered under the onslaught of the ice demon, I wanted to show you the crux of what I saw.  Careful; no natural disaster can compare.

Yes, that’s it.  I could find no ice on any other surface except the bushes outside my patio.  I’m sure there was more.  I should have been more thorough in my search, but I could not get beyond the horror I found right there in the bushes — the only proof of Winter Blast 2006.  Sad…

The light of day was fully upon this place now.  Its essence filtered through clouds and falling snow, only a shadow of its true strength, fighting its way to my eyes through air marred with the scurrying flakes of ice carried about by wind.  Like a fog the snow masked reality from perception as it was carried upon clouds dark and thick and gray, and these clouds, acting in unison with the snow, swathed the presence of life in coverage deep and cold and ever-present.  Beholding this new reality breathtakingly excited my senses.

Despite this, what more was there to see?  My journey carried me to and fro, filling my eyes with the wonders and splendor of the season.  No greater appreciation for this scene and no greater understanding of the snow’s will could be found.  My satisfaction was deep with the sights I beheld, my senses overwhelmed with wondrous beauty.  No metamorphosis was ever as divine as that with which the snow now presented its new world, still making and transfiguring all that is and was into all that could be and would be.

I turned once again to glance behind me, to quantify in measurable sensations the distances and places already traversed.  As before, even now I could see my footsteps in the snow rapidly disappearing under the cloak of white thrown heavily atop all things.

I found myself standing near the creek again.  Its frigidly dark waters made more evident by the snowy white cover, I contemplated how the water must feel as it made its way through the snow toward the lake.  These waters would never pass this way again, not in the same essence with which they now journey.  Was the snow also pressing it forward, knowing its existence would end as it joined the lake and became one with that larger body of water?  How did the creek feel about its murky depths contrasting so evidently with the snow’s pristine whiteness?  Did it wish to linger a bit more, to romp playfully between its own banks in the snow’s winter playground?

For a moment, I thought I heard the creek’s silent whispers of jealousy and awe.  Perhaps that was merely my own imagination, yet it seemed so real to me.

I continued on my way, now much closer to where this journey began.  I could not see my home through the curtain of snow and the trees hanging thickly with foliage of white ice.  Nonetheless, it called to me, I know, beckoning to me with promises of warmth and comfort and protection from the storm.  Even in the stifled voice with which it whisperingly shouted to me through the hush of the snow, I recognized its loneliness, its cries for my return.  Is that my own loneliness reaching out now, hoping for some company, some sign of life in this beautifully barren tundra?

My feet carried me forward across the creek.  Here where my journey was youngest there was no trace of my passage.  The snow’s fervent power was most evident now, having covered so entirely and successfully what evidence there had been of my path from home to the lake.  My soul cried out now, wanting desperately to understand why I was here, but even more importantly wanting to share this with someone.  No one could claim such beauty alone; no one could enjoy the world’s transformation more than would be possible were it shared with someone close.

Now your journey ends.  You are one with us, having partaken of all that we offer, having traveled within and without, having supped at the table of our wintry bounty and filled your cup with the strength of our silence.

The words rang hollow for me, momentarily at least, as I struggled to understand.

Your place is here.  Take refuge under the last bastions of the tree’s cover.  Its branches provide that which you need to fill your eyes one last time with the world we create.

I stood breathlessly under the trees sagging, snow-laden branches, glancing about me here and there, realizing finally that I had enjoyed the morning as much as one alone was able.

I was one with the snow now, covered from head to toe with increasingly comfortable white camouflage, its cold no longer bitter to the touch or taste.  The wind enveloped me with mental warmth stemming from my enjoyment of the landscapes transmutation.  Standing beneath naked branches clothed in snow, their presence offering minimal protection from the icy onslaught, I realized my desire to enjoy this event alone had passed.  My camera was full of photographs and my mind overflowed with the wonder of this new world.  The hours I spent here watching the snow were now complete, having fulfilled my need and desire to experience this event alone.

Within me, only now becoming visible to my mind’s eye, my aloneness took flight and became very real to me.  Such beauty and power must be shared.  I did not regret the lonely trek I had taken.  It was more than enjoyable.  I dared not deny that, yet equally I would not deny that my enjoyment now would be more acute were it shared with another.

Only then did I acknowledge the increasing sounds and movement in the park.  Upon glancing about me, I saw the stirrings of people.  In the hours since I had come to this place, I alone had enjoyed its beauty, bathing in the undisturbed act of creation taking place.  While I had not considered the absence of others until now, I was happy to be gifted alone with that experience.  Still, my heart yearned now to share this with someone, having expended my selfish interest in the lack of human interaction.

Are you so unable to see that which is before you?  We joined with you and you with us.  Our creation is not yet complete.  Joined one with the other, we and you and you and we, the power of our silence and strength of our smallness births a world familiarly alien.  This we bequeath to you, to those who join you.  Immutable only while we are strong, we cannot maintain our presence here.  Enjoy our silence.  Enjoy our beauty.  Enjoy our strength.  Time is short; do not delay.

The coldness and silence and heavily falling snow enshrouded me so utterly and completely now as I stood beneath the tree’s nakedness and covering.

“Jason…”

Muffled to near silence, the call was unheard at all but at the most shallow levels of hearing.  This was not the voice of the snow.  Never had it spoken to me aloud; only in my mind could its voice be perceived.  I could see perhaps three or four other people in the park now.  Surely the greeting was meant for one of them.

“Jason!”

Again I heard it, louder this time, yet it was drowned by the silence which covered the world.  I turned slowly, scanning my surroundings carefully as I searched through the veil of snow until I saw them.  Wylie was bounding forward, having just discovered his tennis ball hidden beneath the blanket of snow, his tail wagging happily as he saw me.  I could see Rick behind him waving and calling to me, his voice now only recognizable because I was looking in his direction, the heartfelt joy evident in his face, gestures, and speaking of my name.

How wonderful I felt.  The snow was magical, made more so by the opportunity to enjoy it before its violation by humans.  More importantly, I now was presented the opportunity to share its remaining beauty and mystery with both Rick and Wylie, to see the creation, a sheer act of will, take place in the company of loved ones.

We bequeathed to you all that you desired.  You have become the power of our silence, the strength of our stillness, and the world made from our essence.  Crafted from water and cold is the naissance of our existence.  Our will incarnate have you felt, our dominion manifested have you witnessed.  All these things we have shown you and done for you.  Have we not satiated your desire to experience such things?

I could not disagree with the sentiment.  Yes, you have.  You have fulfilled my every whim and allowed me to enjoy your creation without the interruption of others.  Now you have delivered just the company I was looking for, both coming to enjoy what you have created for us.

I turned the camera off and slipped it into my pocket as Wylie reached my position, dropped his snow-covered tennis ball at my feet, and leaped on me with great love and affection, licking my hooded face with eager joy and excitement.  Rick followed not far behind, the smile on his face warming me to the core despite the coldness of this place.  Having taken my fill of the snow in the hours prior to their arrival, I was now ready to renew my enjoyment of this winter wonderland.  My mind and camera filled with the images and experiences of a lonely morning in the midst of such fantastic magnificence, my heart now called out the hope of sharing the rest of the event with others.

In the grip of the earth’s silent confetti, I reached down, grabbed the ball, and threw it further into the park and watched happily as Wylie bounded after it in great leaps and strides, kicking up snow as he joyfully pursued his quarry.  Rick then stepped up beside me and wrapped his arms around me momentarily, whispering good mornings and winter salutations in my ear.  We laughed together marveling at Wylie’s enjoyment of this new world.  We spoke in large whispers of the wonder of this place, the exquisiteness of the lake’s metamorphosis, and our shared excitement at sharing it together.  Then we both turned and followed in Wylie’s path.  We could see him romping in the snow in the hopes of finding the hidden ball that surely must be taunting him from its cloaked position.  We laughed and walked on.

I returned by the same path whence I had traveled to the shores of the lake, following my now obscured trail back to that snow-covered place where my journey commenced.  Even now the snow fell heavily again, more heavily than before.  I had erred when first I contemplated the snow’s waning grip on reality.  It came in heaving waves of cold and frost, first heavy, then light, then heavy again.  Each passing oscillation of the snow’s heavenly fall gestured yet again that it was indeed powerful, that its hold on time and space was inarguable, and each time it came stronger and harder.  Had the snow not declared its time was limited?  This newfound strength surely was not evidence of such.

Even now, my existence in this place measured in hours and the snow deep by inches, the transformation of the world was yet incomplete.  The truth of this I felt in the core of my being.  Time now marked in depth of snow, there was yet more to come.  I felt confidence that this moment represented only the midpoint of Earth’s alteration.

My feet carried me forward as my eyes yearned to retrace my path.  While I had traveled this way only a short time before, the footsteps of my previous journey hid below the fresh surface of the snow, shielded from my eyes by the purity of white falling so powerfully about me and upon me.

I stood briefly under the cover of a tree stripped of its leafy protection, borrowing momentarily from its branches what little cover they could provide.  Its naked self was robed with inches of snow now, its many arms weighed heavily under the load, its creaking under the weight coinciding with every wind.  It called out under the strain.  I listened intently to its cries — or was it laughter and an expression of joy, a voice thanking the snow for its covering of the tree’s nakedness, an expression of gratitude for this blanket thrown upon the realm of sleeping life?  Absent its own protecting foliage, perhaps the tree lamented its exposure and vulnerability and thanked the snow for even an icy embrace.  The thought warmed me; that must be it.

I glanced back along the creek and forest toward the water’s winding way across the park, taking measure of my own travel.  Was this the path upon which my footsteps had fallen before the gray dawn took hold of the planet?  My intellect said it was so, yet my senses denied this truth in the absence of evidence: the marks of my feet in the snow were already gone, shrouded under the heavy covering forcefully thrown upon this place. 

How many times had I been here?  How many times had I walked these same paths?  Decades measured my familiarity with the natural beauty that once encompassed the lake.  Never had I seen it so completely transformed.

Are we so powerful to obscure from you the reality in which you exist?  We make a new existence from which will spring your world once again, like the butterfly springs from the cocoon.  This landscape you consider so alien now is the selfsame refuge you have enjoyed many times before.

I dared not respond.  The snow procured from me time and energy now lost in the wintry maelstrom heavily cloaking all that is — that was.  Drawn from home by a power yet revealed to me and answerable to a calling which could not yet be identified fully, I expended my childlike awe in the hours passed since I first stepped outside of the fire-warmed safety of home and hearth.  I was not disappointed by these events.  Curiosity sated and seasonal joy fulfilled, my mind was satisfied by the exploration of this frosty landscape, the place’s original memory within me changed forever by the splendor of this Valentine’s Day transformation.  I yet did not clearly understand the snow’s intent.  Nevertheless, I was enthralled with the experience.

My camera equally was filled with sights and sounds of the snow’s power.  I and my digital counterpart were satiated by the drink we enjoyed from winter’s fountain, both caressed by icy hands and made to feel at peace with the loss of the world we knew so well.  My invincible attire now was washed white with the heavy precipitation that shrouded life’s true colors.  The hush that fell upon me and all about me loudly whispered that this cocoon was only temporary, that it must be enjoyed while the snow still had strength sufficient to maintain it.

Tarry not.  Your quest nears completion.  We still are incomplete in this place, our power not fully realized, yet our time continues to wane.  Henceforth carry forward in our will lest you deny yourself that which we bring you.

I felt now that I approached in time and place that moment and event that this journey intended to produce for me.  Failing to comprehend in its entirety what purpose with which the snow pressed me forward, I remained compelled to follow.  I walked.