Snow

My twelve-hour day had finally ended. Shedding briefcase and books, I move with Sophie straight to the backyard and the virgin snow. I stuff wet glasses into my pocket and the white world grows even hazier. The sky is speckled in falling flakes, and as we enter a vast, untouched field I imagine we are in a giant snow globe. A colossal God is shaking this scene, sprinkling it white. I witness us from this great distance: tiny Sophie bounding gazelle-like, I trudging after her. All my daily dramas are merely this--scenes in a cosmic snow globe.

Sophie runs with delirium, then thrusts her snout into the snow, sniffing for hidden rodents. Instead of struggling against the neck-deep drifts she leaps above, then into them, then out again. Her apparent joy mirrors my own. I am finally free; reconnected to nature’s purity and my own unadulterated self. We wander in the heavy whiteness. The untouched snow spreads before us--refreshing to eat and pack and throw. Soft, cool, silent, we play in the blizzard that obliterates the day’s details into a wooly peace.