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Self Reflection | Beauty in Contrast
It’s snowing. A wet, spring snow that lands heavily on the petals of the too-early-blooms. The yellow daffodils in the corner of the garden hang their heads to the ground, disappointed in the unexpected moisture.
The flakes are fat, swirling down from the sky in no particular pattern. If I stand with my head thrown back and look up, I feel like I’m falling towards the sky; the snow rearranges itself and moves in slow motion. I can see each individual snowflake dancing, floating softly. A small shift in perspective, looking directly at the snow now, and it’s moving much faster, racing to the ground. Eventually, the moisture levels will change, and the plump, cotton-like bits will turn to small, sand-like grains. So fine and fast that the air seems full of dust. In the pre and post-dawn hours, it will slow down and taper off. The wind will blow away the blemishes, and a clean, crystalline landscape will be left behind.
In the morning, I will awake to a hushed earth. The mostly bare tree limbs will be dressed in layers of white fluff, muted sparkles against a low, gray sky. A melancholy remake of a picturesque Thomas Kincade scene. Barren, cold yet breathtakingly beautiful in its own monochromatic way.
I’m not really a fan of the cold. I spent my childhood, adolescence, and a large part of my adulthood in warm climates, Hawaii &…
