Winter is coming

Snow is falling in Utah Valley, covering walkways with wet powder and causing people to walk with slower, surer step. There has always been a sense of wonder associated with snow, but yet we still hear people complaining about this precipitation, wishing it away as if their wishes were the winds of Zephyros, god of the west wind, conveying spring to the chilled earth. But it is Boreas, god of the north wind, who has blown in with his chilling, biting winds, giving hands reasons to don gloves and button up coats against his onslaught. And when it comes to him, I have to agree with the complainers; I don't appreciate his contributions. 

Now his daughter Khione, on the other hand, is a different story. Not much is known about Khione except for that she was the daughter of Boreas and Oreithyia, the lady of mountain gales, and that she was (most likely) the goddess of snow. My first instinct is to imagine her light and fragile looking on the outside, with a cold, hard center underneath, capable of playfulness and cruelty all in the same breath. But I think there would be more to her than that. Pure snowfall, without wind or any disturbance, creates a space where sound is muffled and dense. The quiet pervades all around you and reaches into your heart, separating you from the rest of the world in a perfect moment. That is Khione
in her purest state.

One of my new favorite novels is a book called The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey. In this beautifully written piece of literature, Jack and Mabel try and carve a place for themselves in the hauntingly desolate Alaskan wilderness of the 1920s. Unable to have children, they find that they are losing each other to despair. Then the first snow of the season falls upon them one night, and for a brief moment they lose themselves in the wonder that snowflakes can bring, building a snow child to replace the ones they lost. The next morning, the snow child is gone and they encounter a little girl who ends up stealing their hearts and bringing them back from the brink. I don't want to ruin the novel, so I won't tell you whether they ever found out if the child truly came to life from the snow (though I encourage you to read it to find out, truly an amazing book). But this story is a perfect illustration of the affect that I believe this act of nature has on us, even if we count ourselves in the "snow haters" column.

"She could not fathom the hexagonal miracle of snowflakes formed from clouds, crystallized fern and feather that tumble down to light on a coat sleeve, white stars melting even as they strike. How did such force and beauty come to be in something so small and fleeting and unknowable? You did not have to understand miracles to believe in them, and in fact Mabel had come to suspect the opposite. To believe, perhaps you had to cease looking for explanations and instead hold the little thing in your hands as long as you were able before it slipped like water between your fingers." -The Snow Child

So while some people might be complaining today about the cold, the wet, and the slickness, I revel in the "hexagonal miracles" that are now falling in our skies. Sometimes we need to let go of the unknowable, we need to let go of the things out of our control. In doing this, the knowable becomes apparent. And the miracle has occurred. So wait for the moment when outside there is nothing but pure snowing falling. 

Then step out. 

And listen.