My mother likes to remind me occasionally that I was born in the midst of a blizzard. It may not seem such a big deal in the Midwest where I currently reside, but in the DC area they don't happen that often.
As I trudge through the quickly accumulating snow today, I think back to that storm which I've only experienced through re-telling, and find a magical beauty in it. The borrowed memory becomes even more poignant, when I realize how fleeting these moments are.
Within hours (maybe longer considering the city's current budget crisis and cut backs to snow removal), the plows will come by and push the unbroken plain of white into uneven piles stained black, brown and gray by the sprayed salt and belched exhaust.
There's a metaphor hidden in there, which I'll leave you to dig out.
5 comments:
I'm sure there is far more to your mothers memory of the event than just the storm.
I do love a fresh fall of snow, even if where I live they would have no idea how to deal with it.
My mother is fond of telling me I made so much noise the doctor said I'd grow up to be a politician.
Family anecdotes we carry round like old photographs are great.
@Eric Yes, but I think it's the circumstance that separates mine from the others. I like it at first fall when things are quiet and undisturbed. After the plows and salt trucks have their way with things, it tends to lose its luster.
@Dominic It's not too late to get into politics :). I like family stories too, but I much prefer the anecdotes about my siblings.
Hi Francis,
I can guess what the metaphor is. Lol...but I might be wrong. Anyway, we might be having the same "snow" here in the tropical region.
I have a video on my blog about what I'm talking about. I hope you listen to it.
Happy holidays.
By the way, Have a happy holidays.
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