C2C: The Anatomy of a Good Snowstorm

(Coming to you almost live from a comfortable wingback chair in front a frost-covered window littered with a child’s paper snowflakes, behind which is happening a good snowstorm, which is stimulating my right-brain at the moment)

There is a perfect soundtrack to a perfect stormy winter night; it’s the second concerto for piano and orchestra in C minor by Rachmaninov (click here to start listening).  There’s a quiet looming peacefulness to a heavily falling snow.  There’s a beauty to each flake as it falls.  I know that tomorrow, the snow will be dirty, and the beauty will be diminished, but when it falls and settles onto the ground for the first time, there’s lightness and incredible beauty.

A deafening quiet also pervades a good snowstorm.  The snow dampens every sound, and makes the silence almost impenetrable.  It’s as if a storm clears away all the city noises and allows my mind to focus on other things for a few moments.

Even sitting behind a solid wall, I can feel a draft coming in from outside.  A good snowstorm makes me want to snuggle in bed with a warm comforter on top of me, or on the couch in front of the Christmas tree, silently watching the snow falling in the background, escaping the draft of the bitterly cold wind.

The best snowstorms are ones that I can feel beneath my feet.  When I walk into a good snow, I can feel the snow crunching beneath my feet, leaving definite prints in the snow behind me.

And the best snowstorms are the ones that result in a day off (this is where the soundtrack to the storm transitions to the third movement of the piano concerto–click here to start listening).  In my school years, the day after a good snowstorm resulted in a snow day, which was always fun.  Snow days were days where my mom would send the children outside for hours to build a snow fort, or for a protracted snowball fight.  Then, afterwards, we would come in, and take off our snow suits (ah, for the days of snow suits) and mittens, and mom would have hot chocolate waiting for us, and we would sit around the old kitchen table drinking hot chocolate, talking about our escapades, and eagerly awaiting the return to the battlefield.  Even returning to school the following day, we would pass our massive snow fort and reminisce about the day before.

Driving in the best snowstorms is a joyful experience.  Aside from other dumb drivers, I love the experience.  I was driving to DeKalb the Sunday before last, and there wasn’t much snow, but the snow that was there was subject to a driving wind, making visibility very low.  A good snowstorm sharpens my senses (my hearing and sight especially), making the driving experience memorable.  Most people hate to drive in snow and rain, but I love it.

Now, we return you to your regularly-scheduled left-brain activities (or, if you’re in Congress, your hare-brained activities).