The Impermanence of Snow
The Impermanence of Snow
Reflections on life, play, and being present.
We were building snow people, two little tots and I. Or maybe they were snow angels because all of a sudden they wanted wings on their snow-blobs! These two three-year-olds can play together quite well but they do have a tendency to clash, resulting in tears for one and outrage for the other. I was on my knees in the cold snow, moving between the two, my arm-length distance between them to prevent any sneaky crushing of the other’s blob.
The snow was sticky but not so sticky that they could easily build something. It kept collapsing and required a little more finesse than either of the two could muster.
The snow has changed in form and consistency over the past week. I thought of the Sàmi, the indigenous peoples of Northern Europe who have 300 words for snow. Living with snow as a daily part of life for thousands of years would develop language to describe the almost daily changes the snow can go through - something most of us think of as just white and pretty.
I made a ball-blob for one of the little tots then had to make one for the other one. I was moving in between them, helping them both, watching them pat and shape (and crush!) the ball-blobs I was making. Sun broke through the clouds and bathed us in light.
Both little tots reacted, covering their eyes in the brightness. I tilted my chin, face towards the sun, feeling its warmth—the first time since late summer last year.
I felt spring in the air! A brief second of reprieve from what sometimes feels like never-ending winter.
One little tot snuck past me, giving the other’s snow blob a kick. Protestations in the form of a long whine resulted in me sitting with one of them in my lap, the snow cold on my bottom and legs despite my over-pants. We rocked slightly, the little tot and I, a soothing movement. They snuggled into my warmth for a second or two, before getting up to work on the blob again.
So engaged, they were, in their task they didn’t even want to pause to eat their fruit—fully absorbed in building something that would melt in a few days, life’s impermanence reinforced in their play.
It’s moments like these that I seem to appreciate more right now. Maybe it’s my age or time of life or a greater acceptance of the present - perhaps all of them. I regularly take stock, look around, pause.
On consideration, I think it’s something I’ve always done but perhaps I haven’t reflected on it as I do now. By writing weekly I’m conscious of things happening and the sounds, smells, tastes during a day, of nature’s ebb and flow.
The practice of writing has sharpened my observations and deepened my reflection of all the wonderful happenings around me. Keeping curious and open is essential in this process, an unexpected bonus of this weekly writing habit. That I have readers from all over the world who take the time to open my email (or story in the app) never fails to surprise and delight me!
I never thought I’d take delight in spending time with little kids. They require presence. That’s all. But that’s not always easy in today’s life but I feel like more and more people are becoming aware of the importance of pausing, resting, breathing. Or maybe it’s just that I am more aware!
The snow blobs have melted now. A few days of plus degrees (Celsius) will do that. The little tots have found other things to do as the week moves on and I move to other jobs—this time with my class of 60 to 82-year-olds. The other end. And equally as delightful.
Stay well,
Lisa x
I’m Listening
I happened to listen to Glennon Doyle’s podcast, We Can Do Hard Things. The author of Untamed (a fabulous book!), she interviews the incredible Bozoma Saint John in an episode called How to Love Our People Bigger & Better. What an incredible woman! Boz, as she’s known, has embraced life, dealing with incredible adversity and is well known for celebrating life’s milestones in a huge way. The podcast is great, this episode definitely worth checking out, and I’ll be putting Boz’s new memoir on my “to read” list.
I’m Writing
This one from my Instagram archives
Love your writing, your photos, your thoughts and your poetry Lisa :)
I love your prose describing the snow blobs and funny actions of the toddlers. This was a delight, and your insights on the winter weather were a welcome breeze to this northerner. Thank you.