An interesting change in rhythm happens when it snows. Yes, we eat all the carbohydrates in sight and snuggle in to watch the fire, but that’s not all. Whether we are shoveling a path with neighbors or postulating on the odds of outdoor play, our native dialect becomes one of winter weather. We talk of snowman snow and snow angel snow and igloo snow, and suddenly I understand why the Samis have 180 words to describe the substance.
For Vivi, I imagine the highlight of watching the snow come down was that she spotted a solitary puffed-up robin tucked in some branches outside our window. As she is out there now trudging around building castles and digging trenches, I hope she is tucking away little memories of our days together.
|This is me in the back yard, snow up to the seat of my pants.|