First Snow

The snow falls slowly from a white sky, landing gently on leaves, green and yellow, still clinging to their branches, willing the seasons not to change. But the seasons are as inevitable as the circles of the sun and the moon, illustrating the Circle of Life every year in bright blues that turn to yellow and orange that are covered under a blanket of sparkling white that melts to reveal sprouting greens and pinks. The chapters of our lives are marked by revolutions around the sun; even when we can't see it, it's there, shining brilliantly as it holds us together, sustaining life as it has always done.

As I gaze out my window, I watch as trees let their branches sag under the weight of the sky. A breeze nudges the snow, making it gracefully fall to the earth at a small angle. Inside, the heater is on, working in concert with my sweatpants and oversized black fleece to keep me cozy as I sip my tea. I dream of the days as a child that I bundled up in snowpants, a jacket zipped lovingly up to my chin, a home-knit hat and old, thick ski gloves, and ran outside and down the street, my little sister tagging along behind. Winters passed in a blur of snowballs, snow angels, sleds and bowls of snow drizzled with hot maple syrup. Towers of white covered the ground for months, growing and waning with the world but always present.

I watch the sparkling flakes begin to fall in ernest, sadly knowing that every last one will melt by noon tomorrow under the unforgiving Colorado sun.