Mullis: Winter’s willing captive...for a moment
The snow cancellations had started early on a Friday. At first, I was overjoyed. I had multiple projects due Monday. Having a free morning evolve into a free afternoon and then a free evening was a reprieve, even if it meant shoveling every three hours.
But as the cancellations continued into the weekend, I was no longer grateful. I spent Saturday and Sunday half-dressed for appointments, half-engrossed in the work I could do, and half-concerned about the work I couldn’t do.
At one point, I called the person I rescheduled with for Monday to see if we could re-reschedule because my Saturday appointment was rescheduled for Sunday, pushing another deadline onto Monday. Five minutes after that call, my rescheduled Sunday appointment canceled, so I had to re-reschedule Monday’s reschedule.
By Monday morning, the delayed errands and mangled appointments made for an intimidating day. I got up early, took a fretful shower, pounded some coffee, and started running around the house until everything I needed was on the table next to my bag, ready to go.
I trudged through the snowdrifts to the truck. I was glad for the 4x4, but I wasn’t tall enough to push the snow off the windshield. It was six degrees, so I mashed the snow on the hood and called it good. I wrestled the door open, upsetting the snow on the car’s roof, which plopped on my barely dry hair. Every inhale stung my throat. Every exhale hung in the air.
I got in, turned the key, turned up the heat, and pulled out of the driveway. The sun broke through the clouds, hit my car, and blinded me.
A fine frost coated my truck. The kind of frost an ice scraper glides over ineffectively even if you are tall enough to scrape the windshield. I would have sprayed it off with wiper fluid, but I had buried the sprayers in snow.
I tried rolling down my window, to clear a side view, but it was frozen shut. I tried wrenching the heat to max, turning the fan up, even blowing on the window, but it was pointless. The engine was cold, and so was I. All I could do was wait.
I did not wait gracefully.
I fidgeted in my prison, moving my bag closer, taking out my phone, putting the armrest up and down, cursing myself for not bringing coffee, wondering if I should turn on my laptop.
The fan whirled, but the frost remained.
I got angry. Stupid Winter overstaying its welcome and canceling everything. No one wants Winter in February. No one wants snow days in February. I shook my fist, but Winter didn’t care. So, I slumped in my seat and pouted.
I don’t how it happened – the angle of the sun, the position of my car, that exact minute of the morning – but the frost turned gold.
The gold grew more intense, forcing me sit up and lean in. I could see patterns on the glass, a million interpretations of snowflakes, both delicate and intricate, surrounding me on all sides.
The heater began to warm. The sun continued to rise. Slowly, between these two forces, each flake went from gold to rose before winking like a diamond and dissolving. Through the rapidly clearing glass, I saw the sky wasn’t blue but lavender, as was the smoke curling from the chimneys and the snow covering the ground.
I stilled in my unzipped coat, with my half-dried hair and my frozen fingers, captivated by Winter’s beauty.
I didn’t move until the last diamond winked at me. Then, I put my car in gear and headed east.
Nicole L.V. Mullis is the author of “A Teacher Named Faith." Contact her at nlvm.columns@gmail.com.