Snow Day.
So the snow is a'falling, and the entire show has ground to an abrupt stop. Taking a ride around town, I see people struggling to keep nature's residue off their things. It looks futile as the precipitation falls so quickly that their work is soon reversed. I keep thinking about joining the fray, and then reconsider... with concerns about the way I've been treating by body. If I were to exert myself, I would want some resolution. I'm not going to risk losing my breath to put things stable that I know will run to flux in a moment. It took me a good ten minutes simply to clear my car so I could go for a mocha.
The time of my life when I could feel reverberations of childish anticipation for the snowfall has passed. I'd rather know weeks ahead of time when I'm going to be released from work. In that way I can plan to use the time to my best advantage. As it is, I'm left to the designs of an inertia built from a thwarted schedule. I can only cast about and improvise an approach from hour to hour. And my mobility is restricted by forces beyond my control. So it's naturally a time of reflection.
Yet it wasn't always this way. As a kid I shared the natural excitement that built from the possibility of a day without school. In that case nature cast its own fingers upon the plans of adults. These were the hands of my parents, my teachers, my neighbors, and strangers. They had a strategy to mold us, and they had a calendar to plot their progress. But unlike the will of God, theirs was fallible. And so the word would come down from somewhere on high, and I'd get to stay at home and follow my whim. This capricious joy was embraced with all of my unformed being. I was liberated, along with my friends, if for only a brief time. And the streets belonged to us, because the adults now feared the snow.
Because the snow provided us our deliverance, we embraced it with the totality of our spirit. We mocked the fears and strictures of adults in every way possible. We tore apart boxes, and rode sheets of cardboard down the steepest hills available. We built ramps of packed ice at the bottom that propelled us into traffic. And then our courage outgrew us, and we threw ice balls at passing motorists. Then exhausted from constant flight, we spent the last of our energy building deities that the profane mistook for jolly snowmen. Let it not be said that we were ignorant of the import of our creations- and that our own suffering did not follow the slow withering of our offerings... while we were back in the restricting arms of our elders.
The time of my life when I could feel reverberations of childish anticipation for the snowfall has passed. I'd rather know weeks ahead of time when I'm going to be released from work. In that way I can plan to use the time to my best advantage. As it is, I'm left to the designs of an inertia built from a thwarted schedule. I can only cast about and improvise an approach from hour to hour. And my mobility is restricted by forces beyond my control. So it's naturally a time of reflection.
Yet it wasn't always this way. As a kid I shared the natural excitement that built from the possibility of a day without school. In that case nature cast its own fingers upon the plans of adults. These were the hands of my parents, my teachers, my neighbors, and strangers. They had a strategy to mold us, and they had a calendar to plot their progress. But unlike the will of God, theirs was fallible. And so the word would come down from somewhere on high, and I'd get to stay at home and follow my whim. This capricious joy was embraced with all of my unformed being. I was liberated, along with my friends, if for only a brief time. And the streets belonged to us, because the adults now feared the snow.
Because the snow provided us our deliverance, we embraced it with the totality of our spirit. We mocked the fears and strictures of adults in every way possible. We tore apart boxes, and rode sheets of cardboard down the steepest hills available. We built ramps of packed ice at the bottom that propelled us into traffic. And then our courage outgrew us, and we threw ice balls at passing motorists. Then exhausted from constant flight, we spent the last of our energy building deities that the profane mistook for jolly snowmen. Let it not be said that we were ignorant of the import of our creations- and that our own suffering did not follow the slow withering of our offerings... while we were back in the restricting arms of our elders.
posted by Merge Divide at 5:04 PM
2 Comments:
As a kid snow days for me gave oppurtunity. My brothers and I would grab shovels and clear peoples walk ways and then knock on they're doors for money. It was a risk becouse some people didn't have it, but most felt obligated to give. By the end of the day we made ourselvels enough to by some junk food snacks or whatever. I've been looking around for such enterprising young souls but there seems to be a lack of ambition in the kids today.M.
Children understand the sacramental offering inherent in the joy of play, and its authenticity.
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