Riff on the First Snowfall

And it's just about gone now. I like the monochromatic aspect of it all. The fluffy new blanket cuddling the brown earth, smoothing the rocks and shingles of the shore, mothballing the trees for the spring.

My clever birds burrowed deep into the bird feeder and yelled to each other that the food conundrum was solved for another day. The pecking order took over, bluejays first, juncoes next and last the sparrows, patiently waiting, flipping the soft flakes from their wings as they stood in an orderly line on the railing.

I was deliberately slowing down myself. What the hell is my hurry most days I asked myself. In a life of rushing around I have to tell myself it is perfectly OK to slow down now, stroll, don't run. Savour the air, breathe in, breathe out, stop even. Slow down the world for a minute or six.

It is alien to my nature not to rush about the appointed tasks, hurry the phonecall, pile the fire high all at once, add more baking to the floured board, make three dozen more.

I think I know now why some elders slow down to a crawl. It is not physical or mental limitation at all.

It is a conscious choice - to savour all we could never do before. Finally we are stopping to smell the roses. And the cedar and the woodsmoke and the ocean.

Time. So precious. I'll have eight more lifetimes, please.