Hard to believe that, just a few days before, I had just been remarking that the air did not feel as cold. There was a tease of warmer days, only for another storm to dip south and blanket campus in another deep, powdery layer of snow.
Fresh powder is the kind of snow I lived for, though, so I bundled up in my warmest jacket and thickest boots and began my trek across campus. It had crossed my mind to get a ride, but by the looks of it the snow plowing crew had not yet even attempted to work on the roads. A few times a car rolled slowly, precariously by and I was reminded that my tiring choice was still most likely the safer one.
The path I take to my spot was coated with the flakey white, shallower here slightly thanks to the slight shelter of the surrounding bare trees. Even with this protection the snow still came nearly entirely up my shin-high boots, and the effort only became more difficult when reaching the embankment. The path had been snowed in and was harder to find; finally, I recognized the familiar archway the curve of the leaning trees created and fought my way up the hill on all fours.
There’s something about snow that seems to take the sharpest, to-the-bone bite out of the cold. On any given day I would rather been buried in the stuff than left to deal with the empty, stinging air. Laboring my way through the deep powder had left me burning underneath my jacket, and I did not take into account that the graveyard of fallen trees at the crest would become treacherous hidden under the snow. Crawling a few more feet, I rolled over onto my back and sprawled out, cushioned as I looked up.
The sky was a space less shade of grey that had no depth or distinction. The tips of the skeletal trees around me thrust up into it, some marked with pockets of snow in their bark. The snow had been falling rather heavily as I began my trek but had slowed a little; the little assailants seemed never-ending, obscuring my vision with tiny wet touches along my face. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, pushing every thought away and opening my mind to total sensation. I became minutely aware of how heavy my legs felt in my heavy snow boots, how long and weightless my arms felt spread on either side. It was quieter than usual, as the usual white noise of the distant road was not as big a distraction. The small flakes made the softest sound as they landed around me.
I let my mind wander now, letting go of being centered to what I heard and felt. “So this is how you flow outward” I recalled Mary Oliver’s line as I released my mind to whatever fantastical whimsy. Maybe this is what she had meant, what she had found in that peculiar dream; the most pure form of meditation, out in the world, without a soul to disturb you and nothing to make you think clearer than the crisp, blank escape above.