The Blizzard came and transformed the city.
Before the snowploughs and the footprints and the salt and the dirt could arrive, I got up early to capture it.
I stepped out of my apartment—and into Narnia. Complete with lampposts.
Everywhere, everything was brimming with light. Beauty that catches in your throat. Sudden brightness—shining in the air, in the trees, in the skies, at your feet.
Every moment a new landscape. The early pink skies and the gentle light on the snow cushions on benches. The afternoon sunlight that turns trees to crystal, and a park into an enchanted forest.
Snow making everything beautiful. Covering over the ugliness, making everything look new. Almost as if the world has been made again and we are coming upon it for the first time.
Is it the world—or our eyes, that are made new?
A friend reminded me of a lovely C.S. Lewis quote about children and snow:
“Everyone begins as a child by liking Weather. You learn the art of disliking it as you grow up. Haven’t you ever noticed it on a snowy day? The grown-ups are all going about with long faces, but look at the children—and the dogs? They know what snow’s made for.” [C.S. Lewis, That Hideous Strength]
Children’s eyes are new. They can see what we have become blind to.
Snow reminds me.
I would like to live every day with the eyes of a child.
I would like to unlearn what I’ve learned.
I would like to step out of my apartment every day with new eyes to see what is always all around me, shining at my feet.