Tuesday, December 11, 2012

stillest corners of the universe

Snow is crystalized magic, falling from the sky.

On Sunday, I went to the theatre.

There are few things more imbued with Christmas-yness than going to the theatre around Christmas time. It reminds me of all those years seeing and/or performing in A Christmas Carol, or another Christmas play. One of the most important ingredients in any crowd-pleasing Christmas play (I don't care if your audience is composed of hyper two-year-olds or blasé twenty-somethings), is snow. It's one of the simplest effects to create onstage, but when you do, you've transported the audience into something captivating and awe-filled. No matter how many times I've gotten a plastic snowflake in my eye, or spent a half-hour combing them out of my hair, I myself always awaited the snow with delight and joy. Snow onstage is sheer theatre magic.

After we walked out of theatre, so full of Christmas joy and fervor, we walked right out into a cold December rain. A stark reminder that Christmas snow was still a while away. We were still in Advent.

I didn't mind--I loved the fog that rolled in late that night and covered the skyline, and brushed around the tops of the trees.


But, I woke up on Monday, longing for snow. 

At 12 noon, it began to snow, and several other girls and myself burst out of our own theatre and into the wild dance of the snowflakes that were falling from the sky.
It was magnificent. With shrieks of delight and twirls of joy, we greeted the gelid white flakes. They were sparse and small at first, but they slowly grew, becoming fluffy white clumps.

At 3:00 in the morning, the world is always cold and quiet.

But as I walked back to my dorm room last night, it wasn't nearly as cold.

But it was twice as quiet.

Snow always wraps the world in a shroud of comforting, cozy silence.

I watched the big, fluffy flakes fall to the ground, and I felt them fall on my face, and I watched the grass disappear under a downy white coverlet.

I felt a bittersweet taste of nostalgia for a split second: how am I going to leave this place? I thought.

But that disappeared in my overwhelming gratitude to be walking in the snow.

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