Falling in Love with Snow

Manhattan is dressed all in white, and I fell in love…with snow.

I’m not sure whether it happened when I became an adult, when I became accustomed to warm Las Vegas winters or when I started seriously training for races, but I have hated winter for a long time. I have always loved the sight of snow in all it’s pristine purity watching it fall gracefully from the warmth and comfort of the indoors, and there have been times when I have found it calming and charming to walk in, but over the past couple of years I have found it more of a nuisance than a natural wonder and beauty. But this weekend, I fell in love with snow.
It started to fall Saturday night covering the streets with a blanket of soft whiteness that muted the sounds of the city. Everything became quiet and somewhat magical. When the streetlights hit the snow just right it seemed to glitter and sparkle beneath my feet and with each step made a sound that I felt in my bones before I actually heard it in my ears. It’s a muffled crunching sound that reminds me of childhood winters in Wisconsin. It swirled and danced all night long, and I woke up to a white canvas that was still being painted as I watched. The flakes would gently float down, then swirl upward, at times coming down rapidly and others ever so faintly. It snowed most of the day. And by afternoon, I saw the city look more beautiful than I have for a long time, white, pure, humble like a bride waiting to walk down the aisle.

I have always wanted to take black and white winter photos here, so I decided yesterday was the perfect opportunity. I grabbed my camera, my roommate’s furry boots, some gloves and my phone and headed to Riverside Park. Not surprisingly it was busy with people of all ages sledding down the fresh slopes of snow. The scene was a colorful array of winter coats and hats like polk-a-dots on a clean sheet of paper. I quickly came to the conclusion that my scene of solitude and the untouched landscape that I had anticipated finding was not going to happen there. So I headed over to Central Park. Every day I enter at 103rd Street and run down a hill past a pond and up to the main road in the park, and every day I see photos I should take wishing that I had my camera with me but knowing that I will never take it running promising to return at some other time to capture what I see so early in the morning. I rarely ever do that, but yesterday I did. There were people in the park as there always are, but my eyes saw a beauty I don’t think my camera lens will ever be able to capture.

I had a very serendipitous meeting once I was in the park and continued to take in the magic of the moment with someone else who appreciated what nature had just created. All the while my dislike of the winter season and hatred for the cold and snow seemed to melt away. We walked through trails as the sun set and even made our own trails. And even as the sun went down and night descended, the brightness of the snow filled the park with a soft ethereal glow.
We walked in snow up to our thighs, romped through the powder and attempted a few snowballs. This is really the first snowfall of significance this season, and it seems to bring out the inner child in everyone. People of all ages had makeshift sleds and inner tubes riding down hillsides in every direction. People were laughing and smiling. Adults were playing just as carelessly as the children enjoying a moment of childlike purity. It was the perfect ending to a nearly perfect weekend as people prepared to get up the next day and face all of their adult responsibilities. But for those few hours, they could forget about bills, work, laundry and all the other things that seem to bog down the world on a daily basis. Snow not only blanketed the city in robes of white but in smiles and happiness.

This morning I went running in the park. I was practically alone except for the handful of other die hards who daily brave this unpredictable environment. Despite the freezing temperatures, mornings like today are my most favorite times to run. It’s quiet. It’s the hour I have completely to myself, and when I feel like I am almost the only person in the city. It’s the moment when it’s my city and my city alone, and the park is my sanctuary. The snow covered every inch, the trees, the benches, the roads and trails. The ponds were frozen over and the rocks dripped with icicles. As I ran, the landscape sparkled and faded around me almost as if I were running through my own dreams. It was surreal. It was 15 degrees, but I wasn’t not cold. My feet softly pounded on the layers of snow and ice. The sun hovered between sleep and awake and opened its eyes just as I came around the last hill and showered the morning with orange light. All the freshness of the morning, the memories of the night before, the sense of freedom and gratitude for being alive that ran through my body swirled together and I had the euphoric feeling of being alive.

The sun is shining and before long the snow will melt into a slushy mess, but I have that magical night that blended into morning. It’s mine… and as the years go by and winter snows come and go, I will always be reminded of the moment I fell in love… with snow.