Illusion of Winter Past

As I commuted to work yesterday it began to drizzle rain and the sky was lowering. Since it is August and the temperature is at least 75 by the time I get going, I had the air conditioner on. The sensation of overcast sky with light rain and cool air reminded me of late fall/early winter where I grew up. By comparison to where I live now, we had real winter there. We would most always have at least one good ice storm. As an adult I understand the inconvenience of that kind of weather, but as a kid, power outages, slippery roads and damage from broken tree limbs could never have entered my mind as anything that mattered. An ice storm was the most beautiful of all weather. It covered everything. Trees, power lines, blades of grass took on a whole new persona. With the sun blotted out by low clouds, it all seemed sort of ominous and over bearing. As if everything had acquired some new but benevolent power. Like some coat of armor that nature had bestowed on it's outside creatures, just to show humans that it could. In the gray light, it was cold and quiet outside. It made me realize how small that I really was. I remember feeling at peace with the world during those storms.

As the freezing rain came down and the temperature dropped, we would all watch it unfold. Outside for a while and inside through the windows. You could hear the incessant, light tapping of the ice crystals against the house. Everyone moving quietly, not saying much. If we were fortunate, from my point of view, it would go on all night. I remember drifting off to sleep listening to the light patter of the ice and rain.

The best part of an ice storm is the next morning. Looking back, I am still amazed at how it would transform my outside world. If the sun came out, everything glittered. Bejeweled with billions of diamonds. When I walked in the yard the grass would crunch under my steps. All the leaves and berries on our holly tree a wonderful, shiny, green and red. Each individual green pine needle coated with it's own layer. Icicles would often hang off the edge of the roof. My little brother and I would pick them off and eat them as if they were the most delicious ice pop treats. We would use them as swords and throw them as spears. The adults would complain and we would laugh with delight. How wonderful to be caught at that moment in time.

Maybe I'll live in a place like that again someday. I hope so. I hope that I never lose the sense of magical wonder in such a thing. I long for winter but especially the winters of my youth.