My husband was working late the other night and I got the writing itch. It had been a few months since I put pen to paper. Once I started, I couldn't get enough. I completed my tinkerbell spiral notebook that I bought last year when I first started writing again. This was the last page in my notebook. This picture is down the street from us. It isn't the inspiration to this piece, but I need to get a picture of my kitchen window for you to see. Or maybe you can picture it on your own?
A
quite Thursday afternoon had me washing dishes left from the previous night and
listening to Coldplay. It was a job I
didn’t want to do but one made more enjoyable as I looked out the kitchen
window. I have never had a kitchen window in the ten years of homes I have
lived in. Until I came to Iowa to live
in a small four bedroom, one bathroom brown house with my four kids and husband. Yes, it is squishy, but how much space do you
really need with 4 children? They would be
all over me with or without space!
Therefore, this kitchen window is a bonus in this house. I can look out of it while doing undesirable
jobs. Emptying the food leftover from
dinner into the garbage because there isn’t a disposal, washing and loading an
array of dishes: plastic plates, glasses and multiple utensils. It appears that the dishes never stop
coming. They always find their way back to
the sink, dirty and begging to be cleaned and shined and freshened.
This day, this beautifully
gray Thursday complete with silence and Coldplay was made still. As I gazed out the window, I saw one fall,
now two, now three. Swirling, twirling,
dancing, meeting in the middle and moving apart to unknown spaces. One to fly higher and land on an outstretched
evergreen branch. One to sink lower,
desperate to touch ground and meld with other flakes spread across the white
and frozen ground. One that can’t make
up his mind and flits between sky and earth.
Where are they going and where will they land? Truly, it doesn’t matter but that they add to
the beauty of the landscape and the amazement that crisp, clean snow provides
to a weary soul. A clear reminder of the
goodness and purity of white and the symbol of a world made new through fallen
flakes. The branches stretch out,
crinkly and cold and brittle. Arms with
fingers extended and awaiting fresh moisture.
Snow that will cover its barren brown branches and blanket them in
beauty.
This view is worth it to
me to live in this house that can’t seem to provide enough storage or
space. But the closeness of winter and
nature and freshly fallen snow will remain in my mind long after the memories
of cramped quarters have vacated. My
lips nearly cry out to the kids that snow is falling, but then I quiet. I want this moment to myself. Selfish? Maybe. But these few flakes belong to me. These puffy, lacey snowflakes are mine. This quiet Coldplay, snowy Thursday afternoon
will always be mine.
