Tag Archives: winter
in like a lion
i always wondered where the saying “march comes in like a lion, goes out like a lamb” came from. well, the first part at least comes from boston.
today is march 2. overnight last night we got a snowstorm. 15 inches. and then some more during the day. did i mention that it’s march? yup. well honestly, it isn’t as horrible as it sounds, it’s just endless. it is the endlessness i find most depressing.
that and the fact that H– won’t close. other notable universities in the area closed down for the day, but we did not. so i trudged into work, high-stepping down the roads through the mounds of unshoveled snow.
i got to the little park where, some time ago, i had a robinson crusoe moment – today i stared bleakly at the untouched plain. there were no other footsteps this morning. no one else had walked through the park. it shouldn’t have surprised me too much; hardly anyone else was out walking this morning; the usual commuters were either asleep or already at work, i guess. and so, though the park was beautiful, blanketed so perfectly, it made me sad to be the only footprints.
i tried not to read into it too much – i am not (as it turns out) robinson crusoe, my life isn’t a great work of literature (though i’m willing to give my Author mad dramatic-irony points sometimes), and the fact that no one else had yet trekked through the park did not mean that i was without a Friday. i was not any more alone at the park than i might have been before. it was indicative of nothing more than the fact that fresh snow was still falling, and that other people’s employers had had the good sense to close shop. i kept telling myself logical things along those lines as i climbed the little hill (a molehill really) and then descended.
and there at the bottom was another trail of footprints. you cannot imagine how consoling i found them on this gray, grey morning. those feet had come from the southern corner of the park (i come from the northern), but they headed to the same destination that i was walking towards. as our paths began to merge, i walked alongside the other prints for a bit and then, relieved, planted my own boots within the impresses made by other feet.
walking in hail
ok, not precisely hail, if we’re going for accuracy. it was what’s (fondly?) called “a wintry mix.” don’t be deceived by that name — i know it sounds like something you’d have at a christmas party: pretzels, chex, peanuts, chocolate, ya know. but no, no, no. this party mix is made up of sleet, ice, rain, hail, snow, and anything else the sky feels to add in. they call it wintry mix to make you feel better about the fact that you have to be out and about in what the rest of the world calls “utterly inclement weather.” but it’s not as bad as a blizzard. and to this i can honestly attest, because i walked through the wintry mix today. fortunately, a proper snowfall had preceded my morning walk, so the scenery was more or less lovely (the yards were covered in white, and i decided to be in denial about the greyish-brown mud-snow-slush nastiness that was in the roads and along some sidewalks).
i walk down putnam avenue and memorial drive in the mornings — putnam is residential and memorial is along the charles river — and as i meandered along putnam this morning i was strangely delighted by the smattering of footprints i was walking through — small ones, large ones, dogs ones and some that looked like good old-fashioned snow shoes. it was a funny fellowship: the footprints of people i’ll never be able to identify interrupted by my own too-familiar ones.
when putnam hits river street, i cross over (en route to memorial drive), and i walk through a little neighborhood park (memorial is on the other side of the park) that was particularly lovely this morning. the grounds were covered in the fresh snow, and as i left the sidewalks and the community of footprints i had been a part of and ventured onto the field of untouched snow, i basked in the idea that i was walking where no one else had yet been today.
a few yards later, however, my footprints collided with another set — larger and indelibly imprinted in my mind. i was reminded of Robinson Crusoe’s great literary moment (perhaps the greatest of all) of seeing the footprint on the island — and i, too, was reminded that, actually, in the human experience, we are never on uncharted territory, and we are not really alone.
and then the loud honks of bostonian drivers on memorial drive brought that little reminder home amid brown-mud-snow-slush splashes.
o! snow!
of all the things that make me feel like a kid again (and, all right, i admit it, there’s plenty:) ), snow is quickly rising to the top of the list. and snow-days are coming in at a close second.
today we had the first snowstorm of the winter (at least, the first one to hit cambridge): 1-2 inches of snow per hour for 7+ hours (still counting as i write this). they let us off of work early,before the snow actually started, in the hopes of getting us all home safe – and it felt just like being a schoolchild again: giddy and excited and full of expectation. we were all waiting for the snow — waiting waiting waiting… 
and when it came, it was absolutely breathtaking. i made snow angels, a (tiny) snowman, wore my new (absolutely adorable) snow boots, threw snowballs at sharon, and whirled around, my mouth wide open, tasting snow as it fell.
even now i am mesmerized by watching it shimmer against the porch light, collecting en masse on my little balcony.
i know that, as the winter progresses, i will discover things about snow that i do not like — but for now, it is simply wonderful.
the first snow
we had the first snow of the season yesterday, but i’ve put off writing about it. i feel like i owe it a great tribute (i mean, look what i gave to autumn!), a paean of its own, something that attempts to match its beauty and breathtakingness — but the fact is that i am still unable to recover from my writer’s block, and i have little by way of poetic or inspirational remarks to offer.
that’s not say that i did not stand in my pajamas, staring out of my wide sliding glass door window, watching winter’s confetti fall rhythmically against the background of the blue and yellow houses across the street; or that i did not thoroughly enjoy letting the flakes frost my eyelashes and hair as we walked to our church meeting, or that i didn’t appreciate the completely picturesque scenes around me (it’s all like a movie set at times) — its just that it was so much more impressive than i can adequately convey.
but you have to write when you aren’t inspired, sez my father, and so here i am — scattering words like a strange counterfeit of snowflakes — but there you have it.
