I'm Dreaming

For the beauty... Of love. Peace. Stars. Snow.

I love the thought of quiet, soft reflection. The scene: warm, white mini lights brighten the corner of a darkened room as I sit, alone, by the window watching the snow fall. To all those without the experience of snow, you truly are missing out. Snow falling at night is peaceful and silent.

My siblings and I spent a great deal of our childhood out of doors. We did not have a television, or electronic devices. Bicycles, dirt, trees, sleds, were the tools of childish trade. And, boy did we know how to use them.

Sleds. I have nothing but good things to say about this instrument of fun, since I never broke my leg on one, unlike my brother. Hours, upon soaking wet hours I spent on the hill in front of my house every winter. I'd lose feeling in all my limbs and still I climbed back up hauling my sled on my back. Yes, there are all kinds of lessons to be unraveled here.. like, perseverance, faithfulness. But the bottom line is joy. You haven't tasted true abandoned joy until you are on a slickened, circular object that is rotating uncontrollably down a hill, flying around trees and various objects (cars) with the sheer hope that you will 1) not hit something that you can't see because you are backward and 2) that you will make it all the way to the second hill that will catapult you to the backyard. Seriously. No. Greater. Joy.

And the best time to go sled riding? Unequivocally. Night. The added element of danger is always appealing to the pint sized. It's harder to see where you are going. Will you, in fact, fly straight into history over the ramp that has lovingly and painstakingly been built and iced for days? Will you miss it altogether? Or. Will you hit it on the side just so, get some air, and slam awkwardly, unceremoniously, into a pile of snow? The odds are almost never in your favor. But that's okay. Being famous is overrated; it is the infamous that are immortal. So when you find yourself in that pile of snow, feeling the ice forming in your watering eyes; watching your brothers running, then sliding, down, sans sleds, to check on you; you turn your eyes upward and gaze at a sky full of stars. And everything is so quiet. It's just you. Snow. Darkness. Stars. Peace. Joy.

Then you're being shaken. Concern turns to giggles. Peals of laughter echo through the trees. Through the silent night. You stand up. And head straight back up the hill.

Quiet reflection is best in winter. The cold naturally births restful, quiet mornings and evenings. A cup of tea. A dark room. Lit up with soft white lights. Thickly falling snow. It's the stuff of magic. It's the stuff of dreams. It's when princesses dance in silver forests. It's when you finally feel loved. For you. It's when anything is possible. It's when you might slip on your boots and take the hill one more time.

It's when you close your eyes and feel joy.