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The Snow Diaries: Journals of a Transplanted New Yorker By C. A. Gardner January 6, 2003 While I was talking to Marc, Theo dispatched Mom & Dad to say it was snowing while he was driving home to Christy’s house! I told Marc I wanted to go play in the snow, and went out with |
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Mom’s old blue gloves with the snowy
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part of a family chattering happily in a living room, making ready to say goodbye, pokes his head out to tell me, “It’s snowing!” “That’s why I’m out walking, to enjoy the snow!” “It’s a rarity around here!” I lift my face to the snow, all these fat white flakes flying down into my mouth, into my eyes, streaming white and cold |
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and beautiful. Another house is like a fairy tale of
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If I lived in upstate New York again, I would still take these snow walks. I wonder if anyone will recognize me here, as they would there, as the crazy woman who walks in the snow? Many streets with the gusting wind and the cars all covered by snow—seeing the blanket fall, holding my breath & exclaiming as the world slowly turns white and beautiful. The bittersweet bite of homesickness, as always, when the snow first starts falling out of that purple sky. Choosing always the darkest and most interesting snowy streets, till I pass another of the houses I once wished were mine, with white cutout reindeer in the bordered garden of the front lawn and all the windows all unshaded and brightly lit |
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to show antique cutouts and Christmas A house has a searchlight trained on an |
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toward the house. On the way home I scoop a snowball from a car and spatter a wooden fence rail, then capture a lonely Christmas tree from out by the curb and carry it home, past the beautiful English-garden house with its snowy paths and Christmas balls, as the fat flakes that swirled around so heavily I could hardly see are now pinpricks, delicate as lace as they rush back and forth in front of the lights. Walking through snowy yards, my heavy boots crunching, that soft give. Orange and brown leaves floating in the dark water at the gutter, drowned leaves, soon to be frozen in layers like pressed flowers. I drag the tree back down the street and wonder how we had the strength to carry so many back to the townhouse as |
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children, rescuing trees from yards and Mom & Dad just bundled up in their We're home again. |
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All images and text above copyright 2000-2003 by C. A. Gardner. |
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