Just as I was pressing the mesh filter of my French press this morning, compressing the steeping coffee granules from the hot water, I was thinking to myself . . . so here I am, snowless in the city.
I had checked the weather again last night, and it was projected to be a sunny day in the 40s. Sure, that’s good for walking, so I was glad. But what about the snow, I wondered.
How many times has snow been forecast, only to disappoint. These days, everything is choreographed. We are told in advance of every micro weather change down to the tiniest details. It’s all predicted according to schedule.
As a little girl, and as a teacher too, the tension of knowing or not knowing whether the following day would indeed turn out to be a “snow day,” a cancelled school day, filled the air with anticipation.
There were the radio reports of school closings to pay attention to. There was the excitement of the unfolding chain phone calls at the crack of dawn the next morning; receiving the wonderful news of, yes, a snow day! And passing this wonderful news along to the next call on the list.
These days, in NYC, snow days are scheduled.
So when I pulled the curtain away from the window late this morning, I stood frozen in place. Wait, was that snow? It’s snowing?? Yes!! No mistake about it! It was snowing. Boy did that put a smile on my face.
To be caught by a surprise, a welcome surprise, is such a nice feeling!
Given that it was so close to Chanukah, it felt like an early Chanukah gift bestowed straight from nature.
The fluttering white snow flakes were streaming from the sky, transforming the streetscape and Central Park into the magic of a winter wonderland. Will it stick? Will this column turn out to be not only a View From Central Park, but a View From Snowy Central Park?
At my parents’ home, there is are a little black round café table and two chairs on the front porch. To me, this café set is the metric for knowing about how much snow is falling. I love watching the snow pile high in a mound of round opalescent perfection on that table. I relish sliding a ruler through it to measure the exact amount of snow that has fallen.
Here in the city, I can approximate how much snow magic we will be treated to by how crested the fire escapes outside my window are, and how much snow enrobes the beautiful Central Park tree branches, benches and tall picturesque lamps.
It’s quiet out now, the snow silence and softness mellowing the world. Even the whoosh of the cars on Central Park West are muffled. In New York, snow days cause life temporarily to pause and grind to a halt, but traffic is still traffic.
And, snow or no snow, it is still New York City. If the snow sticks (fingers crossed), in a few days it will all be sludge and slush and frozen icicles. Ugh. But it’s worth it. The wonder of snowy magic is always worth it.
Today, there’s no need for the dystopian grocery store run, because it’s COVID. Anyway, my hot chocolate stash is complete. My packets of yeast are plentiful. I have enough mulling spices for at least one pot of hot apple cider a week for the next year.
The stillness of the snow at night is just magical. I love watching the snow flakes flutter by the shine of the lamps and glitter under a moonlit night. Untouched, nighttime snow is truly so peaceful, so beautiful, so mystical. Sometimes, when it’s cold enough and the snowflakes fall slowly enough, you can catch one and really see its beautiful design. Especially if it gets caught against your scarf or coat sleeve.
Morning snow, on the other hand, is all about my inner child. Mine jumps to the fore in about one second, and the transformation is complete. Morning snow is time to run out, to play! To revel in it.
I love that this year’s first snowfall in New York City was a surprise, like a gift from above. Especially now during COVID, when everything is more complicated. Snow offers us a white joy, uncomplicated, as snow is pure and beautiful, as always. Snow is still snow!
Feeling snow-deprived here, I recently, jokingly, asked to have some snow mailed to me from Colorado. I suppose it’s been taken to the post office, as the sun sets here on a snowy New York December erev Chanukah day.
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