Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Winter (11/14/05)
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TITLE: Winter's Precious Gift | Previous Challenge Entry
By jennifer torvalson
11/21/05 -
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It was then that I ventured outside the “sensibility” of my home into the dark winter. Wrapped in the warmth of a velvet blanket and the equally velvet nighttide, I stood gently defiant in the crisp air while the snow made her first stately entrance of the season. There, I received honor as she endowed on me her first fruits. Her flakes fell downward delicately, slowly as if to bless, through the beams of the streetlight. They took on the look of diamonds whose edges had been softened away. I glanced upwards into heaven’s own canopy as they made their downy descent, basking in the beauty of their outpouring so thick in the sky. Thereafter I closed my eyes, feeling the snowflake’s cold candy kisses on my lids while they caressed away my concerns; leaving only thoughts of sweetness as they melted into the hush of night. I stood in audience as winter bestowed its mantle on the earth; begging my leave only when its chill had overtaken me insomuch that I could bear it no longer. Stepping up the walkway I hesitated, turning back for one final glimpse of their shining nocturnal dance; they that had rivaled the stars and had won.
The warmth that called itself home surrounded me. I shook my head in something not quite pity, my thoughts drawn to those who would awaken to the morn; those who would utter words of dismay and disgust at what the night had brought them. I felt sadness for those who had not seen: that which I had seen; they that would see other than beauty in the night’s yield. The weather had not forsaken us. Rather, the icy fingers of the air had lovingly chiseled each tiny snowflake so that they might float softly down to the waiting, welcoming ground. Each crystal fashioned so very similar yet each unique, born that they might merge together in creation of an entirely new entity, one that blankets the ground in a shimmering glory to enshroud the old, the dirty and the dying.
Tomorrow as the sun brings forth the day, I will wear a secret, knowing smile as the children wear rosy cheeks, blushed as much from glee as from the cold, and their mittens and scarves of red. Tomorrow it will be winter, because in their wide eyes it is the weatherman and not the calendar that is the harbinger of this time of year. To them, it is only the snow that signifies the season. While their mothers, fathers, and neighbours murmur at the complexities that the fleecy white will have wrought, the children will act as the full-grown ought to. They will turn the teacher as they cast off the woes of former days; that of their homework and their forlorn bikes. They will turn their thoughts, not in angst but in excitement, to the snow born challenges; the unconquerable perfect snowman and uphill struggles with their sleighs. Too, they will turn their little hearts to Christ as they turn their hearts to Christmas.
Even in the midst of the blizzard that will undeniably shake the security of their rooms, the storm that will whistle its frightening whispers in the shadows, they will swallow their fears and look to the morrow when the flurries have ceased and the repentant snow has brought a fresh palette for the new day. And, as I venture outside convention to revel in its furious majesty, I would that the rest of the world open their minds and doors to embrace the snow rather than spurn and shun her; that they might see in her: that which I see. And, as the glimmer of the wintry wonder echoes in the glimmer of the children’s youthful eyes, I would that winter’s precious gift draw out the naive and loving child in all of us.
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