Carson

The human spirit is closest to realizing the oneness of nature when it is in the presence of the coming snow fall. Our sensual connection to nature miraculously sharpens at the moment snow is conceived: touch (the temperature), smell (the absence of odor), sounds (muted, crystal and endless), sight (clear, sharp). One even tastes the dry atmosphere, like a cake of fine hair at the back of the tongue.

A sudden flurry of dry leaven flakes swarm like insects keeping warm on a summer evening. Upon close examination each flake is unique; elegant crystals formed and fractured by their fall from heaven. Yet with repose each flake is merely a part of the larger storm, as if a single giant snow flake were twirling and splitting around us. The mind, hopelessly confused by the mad variety, is lulled into a perception of snow as form - one flake, one million flakes, all snow. Soon snow covers doug fir, power lines, rocks, glasses. Boughs gracefully bent earthward, heavy with light.

Whatever you do, don't look at the light.

Further into the woods all is silent. Even the ocean's waves seem subdued. Tracks. An animal, wearing size 8 sneakers, came this way. He hasn't left yet, hasn't reached anywhere to leave.

No matter what happens, don't open your eyes.

Fingers numb with anticipation, I carry the snowy mass home. Cradled against me like a newborn, the snow melts and fuses to my skin like a coat of annealed glass; steam rises from my shoulders and neck. The deck of the Lodge is slick with transparent slush, making the approach clumsy and trecherous. Near the precipice I release my load, shattering and piling the remaining shards of ice into a mountain of light. Through the abbott's window a candle flickers, then goes out.