There is a foot of snow on the ground in our cove this morning. Reclining in front of a warm fire, I’m watching the birds through the window as they energetically carry away sunflower seeds from the feeder. Firewood stacked in the shop, propane tank full, gas in the generator and food in the pantry, I am content that the thin line of technology separating us from the forces of nature will hold for the day. I am thankful for the excellent maintenance of our electrical right of way that has enabled me to sit in a warm and lighted room watching the snow fall out of the window and the Atlanta traffic snarl on the television. I’m grateful for the crews who risk life and limb to keep the power on whatever the weather may bring. I’m mindful of the plight of our neighbors to the south who will get more ice than snow in this second major storm during a winter that was predicted to be “warm and dry.”
In last week’s column I threatened to leave the Christmas decorations up in civil disobedience to our culture’s mandate to rush ever onward. Last night with the whole family under the same roof (and at the same time) the glittering lights reflected in the new fallen snow helped rekindle some leftover holiday magic. A good snow storm, if used properly, can offer us something we usually only get on our holidays, stretched out so few and far between, and that is an excuse, if not a demand, to simply stop and be – be at home, be with our loved ones, be content in the knowledge that there is nothing to do and nothing that can be done. A culture defined by megapixels, measured in nanoseconds and driven by relentless needs can do with a little reminder that so much of what drives us, so much of what we choose to believe is so urgent and important, is but a footprint in the snow. Life on earth moves in rhythms older and deeper than we can imagine and occasionally they remind us that our own brief moment is much like the snowfall, to be enjoyed before it melts away.
