Snow, snow, go away
Please come back another day
Maybe come back on Monday
So I can say no to work that day
I hummed this sweat little tune to myself on Saturday night. I’m now on my way home from work, so obviously it didn’t come true. Silver lining? The blur outside my train window is white, which is kind of cool.
We place our own meanings on snow, meanings unique as an individual snowflake’s intricate construct.
I’d love to say that it is a beautiful metaphor, perhaps a new beginning that builds on everything that came before it, or perhaps an end to a season as it melts away. Truth is, for me at this moment (I’m at Watford Junction), it is a simple connection to a wonderful memory.
The concrete entrance had a slight grade, but it was the closest thing to a flat surface within buckets distance from the cabin. We dumped cold water on top of the thin layer of snow and smoothed it out with a wet towel. After several hours, we laced up our skates and carved up our creation: an ice rink that was as long and wide as we were tall. Regardless, we skated on an outdoor rink and our pride was immeasurable.
To us, snow turned into ice and represented freedom.
Unfortunately, for my aged Aunt, it meant she could not leave the cabin since we created a thick layer of ice right in front of the only way out. So when I think of snow, I am reminded that whatever winter means to me, it very well can mean something entirely different to someone else.