First snow, new light.

The first snow of the season started coming down as I hurried to substitute for a colleague’s 8 am class this morning – Seamus Heaney-esque sleet-milt came in pats and splats against the umbrella, white rims thickening.  By the time I left the building it had thickened to actual snow, soft and fast and intent on car hoods and bent, hurrying heads. Now it’s quieted and I can’t stop looking away from the papers in front of me to stare out my tower window at the white layered onto grass and trees by the wind.  I know it’s thicker in the open places. I know it’s thinner in the woods, where the wind might not yet have touched, and where the grass underfoot still holds a little of its last-of-summer-into-fall yield and spring. I had forgotten the particular light of a gray snowy day, iron and austere and somehow bracing.  Here it is again, the forward turn of the wheel.

This entry was posted in attention, Driftless region, seasons. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to First snow, new light.

  1. Todd Pedlar says:

    As that colleague for whom you substituted… thanks! 🙂 The first snow – especially that wet, dense kind – is for me often an inspiring and energizing experience. Just as the first fall colors serve as a kind of temporal marker of the accelerating academic year, so that first wet snow somehow signals a time to hunker down and settle in for a winter of reading, grading, writing, analyzing, etc… 🙂

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