Walk on a Snowy Evening

 

            This December was not like the one before. The previous year offered little of winter, at least not until well into February and March. Today was the first full snowfall. The first real accumulation. It called to him. It whispered his name. Since he was a boy, he had a good relationship with this time of year. What once held tobogganing and snowball fights and forts built at the end of the driveway now graced him with crisp cold nights, starry skies you don’t see in summer, and the charming appeal of breath captured in the chill. He always tried to walk whenever the snow started falling. Even just around the block would fill him with both a sense of nostalgia and melancholy. It had always been like this for him. There was always something about falling snow that seemed romantic. It was almost soothing to his soul. The wind that bites at others, only seems to caress him. It may be wild and wicked, but he befriended it a long, long time ago. These walks would not be the same without it. He rarely wears a hat; he just doesn’t need one. The tingle one gets as the night grows colder only stirs him to carry on. He loves to trudge and slip and slide. He loves to smell the winter’s glow all around him, the stark bitter nothing more than an old acquaintance. Every year, as the snow returns, so too does his aching to explore. He loves the winter, at least until January snows. There comes enough of a good thing. He turns around and he slowly heads home. There is just something about taking a walk on a snowy evening. 

 
“Cold, my breathing like a fog
Summer’s over
No more birds to sing their song
Steps, my dirty tracks left in the snow
Bruised and battered
I’ve gone as far as I can go
I can see you and your candle a light beyond the trees
Hear a voice from in the distance calling out to me
Come on in from the cold
Come on in from the outside”

 

            With just a few days before Christmas, the storm hit hard, and it hit heavy. The air was whipping white, stinging, jagged, cutting. It was thick, an almost moving fog of ice and snow. They watched the fury from their living room window. Well into the evening it fell, it blew, and it seemed unending. This would be the perfect time for a walk on a snowy evening. They dressed in layers like their mothers had always told them to do. Once secured, they headed into the whiteout. Outside was unforgiving but both adventurers tramped into the cold December night. They were both in heaven. There was nothing more rewarding than facing the fury of nature in all her glory. The drifts were high, the sidewalks buried but on they went out into the storm. They followed the path they would normally take on summer days and fall moments. They moved together, the lead making marks for the follower to step in. Print after print, the weight of the torrent swallowed them whole. It was a gale, but they moved forward, grunting, sweating and shaking from the cold. They travelled past Christmas lights, and covered cars and tracks all about in the snow. They weren’t the only ones slipping and sliding on this cold winter’s night. The world changed as they wandered. It disappeared under a two-foot-thick blanket of snow. Everything thing was fluffy and clean, the bleakness of the storm for moments seemed hidden underneath it. Such beauty can be hard to see. As the thrill transcended the cold, they rounded the neighbourhood and headed back home. Come the morning, there would be no place to go.

 

“Wind, don’t see her but she’s there
Dead leaves are moving
Her calling cards across the air
I can see you in the window, a shadow through the trees
Hear your voice now from a distance calling out to me
Come on in from the cold
Come on in from the outside
Come on in from the cold
Almost losing the daylight”

 

            She had to be stealth. She had to be silent. He was, after all, mere feet beneath her as she roamed from room to room on the second floor. Her bag was at the ready. In her mind, she had packed it a thousand times before.  She knew what she needed and what she had to avoid. The beer had taken care of him, it always did, and she could count on that. The side of her face continued swelling, even though the bleeding had stopped. His hands never gave a thing away. He was fond of hurting her in the most inconvenient of ways. She even thought of doing it. She considered taking a hammer and bashing the shit out of his head, but she was not like him. Regardless, her plan was for white and not for red. The back stairs were the easy way out, through the kitchen and out the rear door. She had to make it there first. She trembled at the thought of it. She stopped to spy on the conditions outside, the window an alternative if he should wake. The world of winter stood in contrast to the hell inside. The snow was tumbling, tossing, blowing ever so slightly. It was a lovely sight to see, she thought to herself. This time of year, held great meaning for her. As a child, winter was a delight and her favourite season. Her memories of it entwined with her late parents and the life she once knew. She longed for that peace once again. Seven years of torture was finally enough for her. It was getting worse, and she knew it. Soon, he would probably kill her in his fits of rage. It was time to go and now was the time to do it. She grabbed her coat, adjusted for the weather and with her bag in hand she crept down the stairway. Down the hall, across the room, he was passed out in his chair, sprawled about on the ugly thing. She didn’t say goodbye, not even in her mind’s eye. She just looked at him, silently cursed him, then headed for the door. She almost fainted when he murmured a few words in a false alarm. When the coast was clear, she tiptoed through the kitchen and stepped out onto the back porch. As quiet as a mouse, she opened the main door and then the screen door. Her heart raced when it squeaked from the cold. She tasted it. Her first step out was emancipation. She entered the winter wonderland of her freedom. It was like another land unto itself. Step by step she grew more confident, completely sure. She told herself that she was just taking a walk on a snowy evening.   

“I’ve been lost and I’ve been broken
I’ve been buried in the snow
I hear your voice and I keep walking
I keep walking, don’t know why I walk to you
Got nowhere left to go
Come on in from the cold
Come on in from the outside”
(From the Cold, Amy Grant 2016)

 

            I love winter, at least until after Christmas. I love the look of winter, the feel of winter. I even love the cold of winter. I don’t mind shovelling it and I don’t mind walking through it. Winter hides a million sins. It reminds us that there is beauty in everything if you view it the right way. Snowy scenes of my youth are etched in my noggin-like visions of sugarplums that dance in my head. I find it all so enchanting. This season is rich in majesty and splendour regardless of how one feels about the temperature. Yes, winter can be inconvenient. It can be dangerous. It can be peaceful and reassure us of the seasons to come. While I much prefer Autumn above all else, it is winter that holds a close second. It’s the only way I can take a walk on a snowy evening.