The Magic of Snow

One of my most cherished childhood memories has to do with snow. That white soft shimmering snow which cascades through the sky. A perfect combination of elements, to be able to create such majestic sight. Not too warm, not to cold, perfect, for a flawless white coat over the shore. I remember attempting to ice-skate with boots, by the boundaries of the fence where water would run down, unsuccessfully; attempting to build a snow man while my hands would freeze, unsuccessfully. Snow, for people like me who were raised up in the tropic, is a magical, unique and exceptional thing. No matter how old I grow, if there is snow, I will forget the years have gone. And I will just return to that time when I was five years old; skating by the fence and fighting with snow, just because I couldn’t build a snow man -or throw a snowball for that matter-.

The northern hemisphere is filled with snow. Some hate it, some are enjoying it. And every second, I’m wishing I was there; with my big warm coat and my even bigger beautiful scarf. I wish to be strolling down the beach, feeling my feet sinking on the ever whiter sand. Feeling my cheeks icing, my nose itching, my eyes aching, and cold hating. Yet, not caring, as I admire the empty white skyline down the sea. Perfection, from a frozen dream.
I miss the snow. I miss it a lot. I miss it every day, not more than my love. But I still miss it some more.

And so I hope, next year, somehow it snow, someday, someway. To remember my five year old self, pretending to skate, fighting with snow, feeling so cold, and not caring, not at all.

she writes