Today when I arrived at the train station to start my journey home in the blustery snow shower and the temperature below freezing, I wished for once that I had a warm little car instead of a bicycle that’s out of action for the 10 months of Irish winter. I dragged my already-soaked penneys shoes along the path at snail speed in an attempt to avoid face planting the black ice, and it was then that I made the conscious decision to look up and embrace the elements. I had been so distracted by my desire to be teleported into my bed with a cup of tea, that I was missing the winter wonderland that was unfolding before me.
With every crunch of snow beneath my feet and every tickle of sleet on my nose, I was brought back to the big freeze of 2010, when we would sleigh down Braveheart Hill, morning, noon & night. A bunch of almost-adults, tittering in the thick of snow like children for hours and hours on end without rest. For it was too exquisite to rest, too rare. Imagine such amusement, that we no longer felt the cold?
And then I was launched back even further to winter 2003, when my cousins arrived from Australia and witnessed snow for the first time on Christmas morning. When presents were ignored so that tongues could catch snowflakes, and my 11 year-old self vowed to always appreciate the seasons and our fortune in experiencing them in all their glory. When I learned, as we all did, the power and the beauty of nature before materialism.
What is a snow shower, after all, only a reminder to feel. To feel everything from the world, the good and the bad and the everything. Like love, the touch of snow can never be denied, never tamed. I don’t know what excites us in that same way the snow did all those years ago, when it would force us out into the harsh winds, willingly and delightfully, to take a deep breath of life and a warm embrace from nature.
Are we forever chasing that same high?
I continued on home, happily now, with my penneys shoes and my memories and my snow. 🌨🌈
(📸 My Dad)