This week, I wanted to write about snow, but I didn’t want to sit with my own snow thoughts and so I enlisted the wisdom of my Intro to Creative Writing class, which consists of students ranging from eighth grade to senior year in high school. Most, though not all, have lived in Flagstaff all their lives. I knew they’d have some insight on the matter.
Before we wrote, we made a list of snow pet peeves:
Tourists walking in the middle of the road!
Dirty snow is the most depressing thing in the world.
Wet dogs!
Broken sleds.
Which was outnumbered by snow favorites:
Leafless trees downtown draped in lights and snow.
The moon reflecting on the snow.
Doe and fawn bounding through the snow.
Animal tracks.
The Rio De Flag becomes a sled hill.
Getting out of the hot tub, rolling on the snow, and then getting back in the hot tub.
I was astonished by how eagerly and effortlessly they wrote. What follows is their collaborative meditation on snow (gently edited and organized by their teacher):
I wish I could be like the snow: soft, bright and optimistic. I wish I could create the same smiles that snow days do. I want to be gentle, cool and comforting, but almost electric to the touch.
Snow holds magical properties. The white complements the green pines and the red of moenkopi sandstone like an unimaginable artistic choice.
Snow doesn’t deserve hatred. We will beg for snow to come back when the weather is hot, dry and sunny.
The snow is a lonely creature killing living things so they can grow back.
In the snow, you see cars struggling to pull themselves out of the white piles, and it’s comforting when others pull off the road to help. It helps me regain faith in humanity.
Snow couldn’t care less about what you’re doing or where you need to go. It bites your hands, and invites ice along. Together they watch you slip and slide, laughing the whole time.
Snow says, “Oh well,” and carries on.
Snow keeps the moisture to itself, so all the humans have to deal with cracked lips, dry eyes and shriveled skin. Snow is miserable, breaking the little details that no one pays attention to. Broken and cold, it fades away to make more people miserable when they have to pull their boots out of the mud.
Many cultures call snow “the white death,” which is reasonable considering most plants die in snow and game becomes harder to find. This isn’t much of a worry now as our technology has conquered this issue, but it’s worth remembering that humans were not made for the terrifying beauty of the snow.
Before a snowfall, everyone starts bringing things inside.
Snow keeps falling until you zip up your puffer jacket, slide on your beanie and go outside to a beautiful winter wonderland, go sledding, build snowmen and jump in the snow and see how deep it is.
Snow hydrates the forests and makes our world more beautiful. Shoveling the snow, driving in the snow and the coldness might make some hate it, but all the best things in life require effort.
Snow can be a sweet release from school, providing time to procrastinate even more on that writing project. I do sometimes wonder how the person who has to call the “snow day” feels. After all, no matter what that person decides, some will hate the decision and others will love it.
The night before a big snowstorm the sky turns from dark blue speckled with stars to an eerie looking red. Once one awakes from a deep slumber and looks out the window to see the pine trees blanketed with heavy white snow, a sense of excitement is evoked within them. The snow itself can be a thing of beauty but also remind us of how out of control we are of what happens in life. One second everything is fine and the next you find yourself spinning out of control, unable to stop.
Snow teaches patience and proves that not everything can be controlled by humans. Things are quieter, more peaceful, and people seem more friendly when outside in the snow.
Snow can be your best friend and it can be your worst enemy. As Taylor Swift once sung, “a nightmare dressed like a daydream.”
Snow reminds me of the Christmases I always wanted but never got.
Snow is great, until it starts to melt. The surface gets hard and rough, and it’s nearly impossible to break through. This is why one must always, always, shovel it while it is still soft. Trust me. It will help. You’ll thank me later.
The snow is still, untouched, calm. You stand there, the crisp layer crackles under your fuzz filled boots. Silence in the air, muting, calming the earth. The dark trees arch their backs from the weight. The light hits; a quiet battle between hot and cold.
The thing about snow is, for a couple of hours after it falls, it’s soft, then crunchy after it’s been packed down underfoot and becomes ice. Ice isn’t one of my favorite things. It’s cold, slippery and unforgiving. Ice doesn’t care if you have a fragile tailbone. Snow, though, will cushion your fall and pepper your cheeks and ears with frostbitten bites. There’s a love metaphor in there somewhere.
