Sunday, December 12, 2010

Magical Moment 311, "Blanket of Snow"

One day, when my nephew was a baby, he cried and cried. Nothing could calm him. Not a funny face, not a bottle of milk, not a new toy. In my last effort to sooth him, I laid him on his back on the living room floor and found his blue cuddle blanket. In one motion, I held two of the four corners and raised it above my head, then let it slowly fall in one horizontal sheet right over his face. I pulled the blanket gently back towards me and it softly brushed his delicate cheeks. He ceased crying long enough to flutter his eye lashes and glance curiously at me, What was that? I did it again and again. Each time the blanket came towards him in the air, he anticipated the touch with bated breath. And when it stroked his face, he let out a peaceful sigh and deliberately blinked his large eyes when it passed over them. "Shhhhhhh." I whispered. And he was calm.

That's how I feel about the first snow fall. I look straight up into the sky and watch the large flakes come slowly towards me. When they touch my face, I flutter my eye lashes a little. And when they've passed, I look back up and wait with bated breath for the next ones. I look around at the comforting blanket of snow. "Shhhhh," I hear.