When I woke up this morning I was first aware of the quiet and stillness. I could hear the gentle sounds of breathing while my husband slept next to me-a sound I don't often get to hear, as he is always up before me, an early bird to his core. I could hear my dog Moose stretch his big golden body on the carpet by the foot of the bed, releasing a full sigh for the effort it took to move from his restful state. But all else was silent. The house wasn't awake yet.
When I dared to open my eyes and reach for my glasses I could make out movement past the slots from my blinds. It was snowing. On April 3rd.
I could have been upset. I could have been annoyed by the fact that it is 32 degrees out when only two days ago I was driving home with my windows down, hand out the drivers side trying to catch the warm air in my hands as I stopped at each light. But instead, I marveled at the snow.
It was just so beautiful, peaceful, and delicate. There was no wind to hear, no birds busily conferencing about their morning nesting, no neighborhood dogs alerting their owners to the bag floating past their yard.
There was just the gentle flutter of fluffy morsels moving toward the earth.
After letting the dogs out back to do their morning business and comically bound in the unexpected white playscape, I observed out the window aware of the chill in the house. Despite the chill in the air, I felt grateful for this moment of watching the snow kiss the daffodils awake. Gazing through the window a thought came into my awareness,
'I wonder if the daffodils would think this is magical.'
Because for a daffodil, I imagine, the touch of the snow on top of their yellow petals is an event only felt once, maybe twice, in their short lifetime. Maybe the snow makes them feel like they are dressed up for a ball, bejeweled with the most miraculous draping of pearls, crystals, and diamonds. Perhaps the weight of the snow makes them bend in ways they hadn't thought they could experience with just the mass of their stalk and the movement of wind. I imagine them to be excited like children watching the landscape change for the first time, spellbound at the purity of the white contrasting the spring colors that had resurfaced.
Did it tickle them?
I wonder what a daffodil might think of this. Certainly, it would not get annoyed but accept the different transformations weather can bring. I will also then, take this moment for what it is.
To watch the snow cling onto the bright green buds on the bushes, the see the ice hang onto the branches while dustings of red leaf buds scatter below, these are clearly oxymorons of kinds. But maybe magic none the less.
The snow created a vibrant and contrasting landscape onto my simple backyard. The bright clover and jade greens of the grass poking up here and there and deep chocolate browns of the mud against icy white of the accumulation.
The snow was gone by lunch.
The daffodils bright yellow once again unadorned by the white as gusts of wind pushed them off. My house returned back to the familiar noises of weekend business. The birds outside began chirping. After all, they were very behind schedule in their meetings.
While the day remains frosty, the sun is still shining around us and the blue sky promises different kinds of magic to come. I am so happy for the daffodils and the quiet enchantment they experienced in the early spring morning.
Photo credit to Stuart Gaffin from http://blogs.reuters.com/environment/2008/05/26/there-is-a-time-for-everything-and-its-changing/
Brittany Courchesne is an early childhood educator, teacher mentor to teachers in training, public speaker, and blogger.