Silvery moonlight streams through the window
and onto the sticky mat
Where I am
Gliding over the ice
(I am that I am)
Pulled from sleep, I leave the warmth of the bed, pad barefoot across the cold hardwood floor. At the window, the golden glow of an almost full moon lights up the sky, and pours over the icy surface of the pond. We greet each other in the stillness of early morning, a luminous embrace.
Tell me what you feel in your room when the full moon is shining in upon you and your lamp is dying out, and I will tell you how old you are, and I shall know if you are happy.
~ Henri Frederic Amiel
The world of reality has its limits; the world of imagination is boundless.
~ Jean Jacques Rousseau
(Moon over the Bogs. Photo by Robin. 2006)
Sometimes I look at something and I think it’s so wonderful.
And then I realize I was pointing out a fact
That was as obvious as the moon.
~ Hsu Yun
(Photo by Robin)
I’ve always liked winter, especially the snow and ice.
When I was a little girl still filled with innocence and magical abilities, somewhere around the age of 7 or 8, I woke up in the middle of the night and looked out the window that was next to my bed to find it had snowed and was continuing to snow. It was the proverbial and cliched winter wonderland waiting for me just outside of my window. The moon was full and the moonlight poured down upon the scene making everything shimmer and glow in its silvery-white luminescence.
I hopped out of bed and tip-toed down the stairs, through the living room, through the kitchen, and to the back door. I slowly and quietly opened the door, desperately hoping I wouldn’t wake anyone because I was sure this wondrously magical night was mine and I didn’t want to share it. The door, as usual, creaked. I waited. Nothing happened. I waited some more, listening, listening. All was quiet. I opened the door some more, just enough for me to scoot outside.
I stepped out, my bare feet at first shocked by the cold. I hadn’t bothered to dress, thinking my long flannel nightgown would be warm enough. There really must have been magic in that night because after the initial shock to the feet, I never again felt the cold, not once, the entire time I was out there.
Oh, the snow! It was gorgeous! I ran out to the middle of the backyard and looked up at the moon, watching the big, fat snowflakes fall from the sky. I twirled, I danced, I laughed, and turned a few cartwheels while I was at it. I stuck out my tongue to catch the snowflakes. I danced some more, twirling and whirling like the snowflakes falling from above.
At some point during my snow dance I felt a presence there with me. I didn’t know who She was at the time, but She was there, watching over me, dancing with me, laughing with me, and even turning a few cartwheels of Her own. She was my very own Snow Queen and for that night I was Her daughter the Snow Princess.
I bathed in the moonlight and the snow with nothing between me, the moonlight, and the snow. I felt gloriously free and light, as if I could fly with the snow. The cold never touched me.
I’m not sure how long I stayed out there dancing in the snow and the night. It felt like hours, as if time had stopped for me so that the night could go on for just a little longer than usual. When I finally made my way back to bed, I thought I’d never get back to sleep. The bed was warm and comfy, but I was invigorated from my time in the snow. Eventually I did fall asleep, lulled into the deep reaches of dreamland as I watched the snowflakes outside of my window.
I fell in love with winter that night. It’s a love that’s lasted through all the ups and downs of childhood, my teenage years, and my adulthood. Every winter I look forward to the first good snowfall and remember the magical, wonder-filled night when I was blessed with the gift of dancing with the Snow Queen.