It doesn’t happen often, snow in the desert. People who live every winter in snow may not appreciate it, but in the desert, snow is mesmerizing and somehow nostalgic, even if you never grew up where it snowed.
I open my eyes just a crack. I am in bed, facing away from the window, and it is cold in my house. My first inclination is to stay in bed where I am warm. I open my eyes wider, and find my glasses. What time is it? The room is bathed in a soft gray light. I turn over and look through the sheer sage curtains… it has snowed. Now I am wide awake, and a smile spreads across my face. This is the Winter equivalent of a Spring cactus bloom. It is only going to last a short time, so I want to marvel at it while I can.
I am out of bed now, and at my window. My heart warms… it is STILL snowing. I put on my robe, my coat, my scarf, hat, and slippers, grab my camera, and race to my door like a child on Christmas morning.
I crack the door wide enough to stand in the frame, and then I listen. Insulation. The sound that wraps itself around you. It is so quiet, there is a moment where I have forgotten everything before and believe I have gone deaf, and then I hear them, the flakes falling. I listen closer, and now I can hear them crashing into each other; tiny collisions. Who knew the quiet could be so deafening.
My senses are on overload, the chilled air on my face, the fresh smell as though the world were being cleansed while I slept, the visual transformation of my entire landscape, the taste of nature, and the hush of solitude that makes me feel safe, even if just for a moment.
Seven inches of snow lasted two days at my house. I suppose maybe if it lasted three months, I might not feel so enamored with the experience, but for now, I will miss it, and wait to see if it happens again next year.