Snow and longing

When you think to your life before children, what do you miss most? What memories hold an ethereal quality that is subtle and yet profound? Memories that help to shape your sense of self, or perhaps the joy of a life once lived.

I ask not to provoke discussion on how easy life may have been, or how free we were to most anything we wanted. I ask because I’m interested to know your heart, as it exists deep inside of you. What do you long for now that you took for granted then?  Before the label of mother or father, chief family planner, carpooler, or short-order cook.

This past weekend I was reminded of my own, and then again tonight as I read this post by Denise at Musings de Mommy about Snowflakes and Seconds.

Friday night I went out at dusk on a quick errand. When I returned, the night was charcoal and calm. I stepped into my backyard to find it awash in the bright light that glows off the corner of my garage. I stopped for a moment and noticed the glistening snow flakes as they floated like silent angels from the sky. I let myself be filled with the memory and emotion.

I am a huge lover of snow. There are few things that soothe and still my mind better than a sparkly winter’s night. I guess that’s a good thing for a Canadian.

For a brief moment I remembered and longed for  the endless winter night walks that I enjoyed with my husband before we had little boys to tuck snug into bed so early at night. We would don our warmest hats, mitts, and snow pants and trudge along in our boots, letting the snow fall gently on our noses, talking endlessly about nothing and everything. The dark of the night would cloak us in comfort, and the other’s company would be a balm for a cold winter’s night. We had nothing but each other and time.

I told my husband that I missed it. This time we used to have alone and on a whim whenever a stormy night would present itself. It’s difficult to do that now. The perfect winter night is usually unexpected. And our lives, for now, are filled with the expected.


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