Updated: Sep 28
The darkness is soft and vast, cold and blurred at its edges, and seemingly encompassing everything. I drive down the long road linking town with home, flanked by wetlands old and wetlands just created, under-run by the curling slim waters of the Wakarusa, filling and unfilling with curves of snow. The first snow this year, slight and fast, not bound to amount to much, makes a fury of itself regardless.
There is something deeply quiet and quietly deep about being between fields on a December long night when the sky leans low and dark around us all. When the snow flings itself upon the windshield and stark road surface, where it will blow to nothing. When the days and nights before tunnels to move through, the cold having compressed where we go and what we do.
When I turn west, the snow thickens and runs faster. Driving into it is like driving into the heart of one exploring fireworks display after another, light shooting out all directions. As the night hovers closer and longer, the cold gaining more ground, I turn into my driveway, and steer through all this falling, all this change, until I’m home. This snow and cold still a novelty, I walk inside all the warmth, ready to immerse myself in the wonders of indoor living until I can sleep and dream through the rest of the first snow.