Here in New York, we just got that first gentle snowfall of the season. And I was elated. As always, standing by the windowsill I took great pleasure in parting the window curtains and peeking through. Yes! It was true. The magical lacey and white falling stars were draping the dirty Manhattan city below me in the loveliest, gauziest white veil. My heart danced a little snow dance.
Walking my way down from Teachers College I got pelted with snow balls a few times by excited teenagers. Some were running by me and then sharply turning both feet perpendicular to their body, screeching to a halt, in skiing fashion. Some were tabbagoning on tin garbage lids.
It was Friday, erev Shabbos. I intentionally did not make plans to go out for Shabbos dinner because I just knew I would want to take a nice long Friday night snow walk after bringing Shabbos in. And indeed, I did.
I snuggled into my white hat with the big white furry pom pom atop, the matching white scarf and warm gloves. I bundled up in a warm winter parka and was set to go.
The peacefulness of the walk on this snowy night along wide cobbled Central Park West was serene. I softly hummed Lecha Dodi melodies to myself. The other world quality of the snow sparkled. The normally noisy street was quiet. Not many cars or people were out and school had been cancelled that day.
The evening had the aura of snowbliss. The familiar streets around me now looked enchanted. And the silence of the snow held me that mysterious silence that comes with white.
There was not enough snow for an actual snowman or snowmaiden for that matter. But whats the difference? The snow was sticking. And thats what was important. It was a wintery wonderland, the city taking on the beauty of a bride enveloped in a mantilla.
With the afterglow of a snowy walk, kissed on the cheek by the big soft snowflakes, I entered my apartment. Caught by surprise, I walked in on a serious discussion of people expressing their opinions in earnest. Sitting around my living room, people (New Yorkers) were deep in conversation, about . . . about, well, about how much they dislike the snow!
Really?
Hmm. The 8th wonder of the world was being torn to shreds right then and there in front of my very own eyes.
In tones heavy with annoyance, tales of spinning tires, scraping car windows, being stuck at the top of a hill, putting the car in the wrong gear, no taxis, getting the car started and, mostly, the horror of finding a parking spot in such weather swirled around me. On and on went the litany of complaints about the havoc snow brings and about the challenge of coping with it.
Now, I dont drive a car in the city and Im sure it is a pain to deal with the snow as a city driver. But these East Coasters were not complaining about how the beauty of the pure white snow is ruined all too quickly by the traffic. Plus, Im not talking about a menacing storm here with freezeovers and whiteouts.
Just a nice cloaking of good powdery snow joy, just enough to notice a pair of footprints or boot prints in the compact powder.
I dont care what these particular New Yorkers say. They cant deny the sheer magic of the snow.
In that sense, wherever I might be, I am a true Coloradan in my heart. And I like it that way.
