Like an awkward bit of conversation with someone when, all of a sudden you’re both talking at the same time. So you politely stop to give the other person a chance to talk just as they do the same for you… and then you both begin talking again at the same time. Nothing was getting through at best. Except we weren’t picking the stops and starts ourselves.
Eventually both sides put the pieces of the story together and, relieved, hung up. The whole weird interaction left me wondering “What the hell? Why did this happen now? Must be the crappy reception here at the campground…”
Then it hit me- that happened once or twice before. So I glanced out the window and saw that the gray skies I’d seen hours earlier, pregnant with the promise of snow had let loose. It was snowing!
But it was a special kind of snow, the kind of snowfall that begins with small but steady flakes. And there was no wind to make it swirl around into budding snow drifts. It just fell straight and steady, and that’s what tipped me off to its specialness: It was the start of a big snowstorm and there was going to be a lot more snow coming.
I sat down in front of the window, transfixed. The weekend began right there, on the spot. For the rest of the afternoon the long playlist of classic rock music I’d created just for moments like this rolled on. I’d forgotten all about it, so I patted myself on the back for the stroke of genius from who knows how many years earlier.
Afternoon turned to dusk, then evening, then night fell. It was magical and, you know what? It still is. I’ve watched the bare ground slowly get covered by those first, fine flakes.
The storm picked up its pace, the flakes gradually became bigger and bigger until I swear they looked like chunks of powdered sugar. They still fell straight down, limiting my visibility to the nearest trees. Beyond that, it was anybody’s guess what was going on.
The bare, squishy spots were long gone, buried beneath snow that’d hide them for days. Overhead the pine branches and their spindly fingers became round, white orbs of vanilla frosting, the handiwork of the gracious Universe that has granted us this most unexpected, marvelous gift.
And the silent strength of the storm continues this very moment, spreading its peaceful energy everywhere I look.
It’s taken a lot for me to take the time to look away from this beautiful sight but I know my memory is faulty; I will forget this moment. It’s but one of many such times that Sophie and I have shared, from the Mexican beach right outside our door to the total silence of the high desert near South Park to one magic afternoon along a deserted section of rugged Pacific Coastline.
Each of those moments, and so many more were gifts granted to us, coincidental creations arranged just for us by some power so much greater. The only way to think of it is to not think about it and just enjoy the moment.
Wow, I mean Wow. Just this morning, as I contemplated the ceiling and hours before this afternoon’s storm graced our lives I reflected at length on the many wonderful experiences Sophie and I have lived from the confines of this RV. Too many to remember, that’s for sure.
But one thing’s certain: There’s no place I’d rather be than here, happily living out my life in tandem with the most beautiful girl doggie that ever lived. And we’ve shared it all the only way we do anything - together.
Earlier, when the storm began, I opened the door so she could see those first flakes falling. I knew she and I were thinking the same thing- tomorrow’s going to be an absolute joy.
Snowfalls like this one are transformative for her. They take years off of Sophie’s age and she suddenly becomes a puppy again. She just can’t help herself, running full tilt out of sheer joy, scooping up snow as she runs. And when she runs in my direction her big broad smile is plainly visible and I can’t help but laugh with her.
What more is there to life? I ask. Living in the moment with a furry little being who has elevated the concept of living in the moment to an art form is all I can think about now… in the moment, where all good things belong.
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