cabin fever

I took the dog for a walk last night at 9:30. It was probably her eighth walk of the day because we couldn’t quit going outside. In East Tennessee, even 3 inches of snow has been monumental. Holly shuffled through the snow miserably. She threw her nose into the snow, trying to sniff the ground, and then she would drop her entire face. Snow clung to her scraggly fur and she looked like a miniature yeti. My adorable little yeti dog.
The moon was reflecting the sun and the snow was reflecting the moon. It was bright as day but it looked different. It looked softer around the edges, like Mother Nature had child-proofed. My street was tinged with memories, snowmen left alone in front yards, little footsteps imprinted in the snow, and sled marks on a hill. These sweet little snapshots of time were trapped, destined to melt, but saved by the freezing weather. 
I’ve lived in the same house my whole life minus two months. I walked down my street and remembered neighbors having come and gone from the houses. I stepped over the terrible gigantic speed bumps that will someday wreck my car. I saw my old best friend’s house and the porch where we snapped icicles off the railing. I passed the yard where I once flipped into the grass after jumping off my scooter.  After awhile, I came home to my room. I sat down on the bed I’ve always had. I remembered when I repeatedly fell off the bed in order to get my Mom’s attention, just so she would come say goodnight one last time.

I could look at my room as a place to constantly study, to camp out in when I’m mad, to sleep after a long day, to have nightmares. I could look at my street as the place where I always scraped my knee, fell off bikes, and got upset with the basketball goal. And that’d be easy. In the daylight, it’s always the same. The typical things revealed by the typical sun, blazing in all its glory, with harsh winds or bitter snapping cold or humid smothering heat. But the snow showed something different, like a different lens on a camera that softens the corners and exposes new crevices and surfaces.
It covered the brown dead grass and the muddy ditch, making even the ugliest things beautiful. It reminded me of the song that says, “sin had left a crimson stain, he washed it white as snow“. 
It was just a change in perspective, aided by memories and beauty. Sometimes, that might be all it takes.

New favorite song: Starry Night – Christ August