Last night I was listening to music, going through old photos, deleting duplicates and the ones that you take ‘cos you think they’re really artistic and when you look at them later, you think, “WTF is that?”.
At exactly the same time I clicked on this pic of Mt. Rainier taken from an airplane, Andra Day began to sing Rise Up and it was just so perfect as the mountain rose up and up out of the clouds. Breathtaking from 30,000 feet.
Timing is everything.
The snow falls, each flake in its appropriate place. ~ Zen proverb ~
That’s what it feels like. A beautifully bewitching soundless shelter, muffled voices and cars and barking dogs. Silence. It’s like living in my very own Chanel snow globe. (Of course, the reality might be that my 102 degree fever from the flu is making me a bit crazy. On that subject, I used to have this very special blanket that would make me feel 100% better when I was sick and I really miss it. Sad.)
But here I am in the snow. SNOW!!!!
The Japanese have a word for the sound of snow falling.
It’s shinshin (say sheensheen). The word “shin” means silence or, more accurately, the absence of sound where there was sound before.
So “shinshin” is more of a feeling than anything else, a protective blanket of silence. The enchanting sound of silence.
Physicists say humans cannot hear falling snow; the pitch is too high. Wolves and bats can, which might explain why right before a snowfall they seem to disappear into shelter.
And then more and more and more snow, covering cars and houses and the streets and trees. So clean and fresh, like white sparkly frosting on everything.
It’s been years and years since I woke up to the magic of a snow-covered world.
I stepped out into the pure and awesome whiteness of it, snowflakes settling gently on my face and hair, and I recall the wondrous and extraordinary exquisiteness of being alive. It made me want to twirl around and around with outstretched arms, at one with the cosmos. (I did.)
Snow was falling,
so much like stars
filling the dark trees
that one could easily imagine
its reason for being was nothing more
than prettiness
MARY OLIVER, “Snowy Night”, What Do We Know: Poems and Prose Poems
I took video of the gigantic snowflakes but my free WP account doesn’t allow vid uploads, so I hope these pics capture the glory.
PS If anyone wants to gift me that Chanel snowglobe, it really exists. Google it.
Not the Taylor Swift tune, although it’s one of my faves, but I’m talking about shaking off the much too serious posts I’ve been writing about wetiko, death, and the dark night of the soul!
While I haven’t done a whole lot of retail therapy shopping lately unless it’s toys or clothes for a growing Angel Boy 2.0, I’ll tell you about a heartbreakingly exquisite moment that he and I shared on a recent visit.
Picture this: he lives between Puget Sound and some MAJOR railroad tracks. The good thing is the neverending entertainment of watching boats and sunsets and moonrises and the tiny little beach that’s across the street and the less good thing is the long and loud freight trains that heavily traverse the tracks all day and all night.
However, to a little boy, choo choos are AWESOME and AMAZING ALL THE TIME, exactly like his daddy thought at that age. We often drove to the train museum at Balboa Park and rode the little train there, too.
The day I was leaving, as I was packing my suitcase, Theo came in my room and grabbed my hand. I said, “What’s up, Mr. T? I’m packing up to go home, do you want to help?”
He looked at me intently still holding my hand and pulled me to my feet. In a sweet, small voice, he whispered excitedly, “AmmahAmmah, choo choo!” and raised his arms so I could pick him up. We stood at the window and he patted my back and leaned into me as I read to him all the names on the cars and we counted them until the train passed. I counted 56 cars and never wanted to put him down. I wish there had been 10,556 more.
Time stopped for those few minutes.
Nothing else mattered.
A boy, his grandma, a shared love of trains, and the beauty of a little human whose spirit shines so brightly even at eighteen months that he already knows the meaning of life and of happiness, being fully invested in the moment, the mindfullness of joyful living that some of us seem to lose as we transition into adults.
My little buddy. Beyond adorable…THEO-dorable!
This is the Balboa Park train. Can’t wait to take 2.0 !!!
Enchanted Seashells | Princess Rosebud 