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Sparkles in the Night

The inspiration of snow

By Lese DuntonPublished 2 years ago 3 min read

We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin. You could hear the crunching sound beneath the tires and the wind swirling each snowflake into the vast dancing sky. Getting closer to the driveway, I know what my parents will do when we get out of the car. They will stretch out their arms and say, “Here we are! We made it!” Dad will put away groceries and Mom will start to build a warm fire. These are all good things but what I want to do is different. Always a little different, it seems.

We go inside. They scurry around on their self-appointed tasks. I dash up the creaky stairs into the bedroom and grab a chair as I step out onto the wooden deck behind the house. It faces the woods now covered in white. The ideal setting for me to fully absorb the experience. Watching snow falling on the forest. Is there anything better for the soul?

My parents don’t think I’m crazy. They know this about me. I stare at snow. A snow starer. I go into a trance or something. On the deck chair, I sit next to a table covered in a pure blanket of white. It’s the same table we use when eating outside in the summer. Tonight it’s a welcome station for accumulation, fully blessed with a thick new coat. Pristine and perfect. I place my gloved hands on top of it, barely touching, as a way to give thanks for its beauty. I don’t want to disturb the exquisite design of nature’s artistry.

Leaning back I watch the infinite sparkles twirling together in a dance of wonder. Glowing little masterpieces everywhere, glistening diamonds in the night.

Whirling randomly or somehow divinely choreographed? Either way, I am mesmerized. Every little snowflake has its own unique pattern that you don’t need a microscope to see. Each one dances in and out of the infinite snowflake collective and everywhere you look they shimmer with delight. Softly landing on earth, deepening the level of snow and silence, I can only hear a gentle wind. The air smells like magic.

My rear end is starting to get cold but I ignore it. This moment will never come again. There will be other moments like this one, but not exactly the same as right now. I gaze into space and thank my lucky stars and snow for this feeling of positive expectancy. What good thing will happen next?

I hear my mother’s voice calling from the living room downstairs. “Honey, aren’t you getting cold?”

“No, I’m fine!,” I yell, but then realize she may have a point. My toes are starting to freeze, despite thick socks.

I hobble inside, down the creaky steps, into the warm toasty vibe of a big crackly fire and the aroma of dinner.

“What's it like out there?” asks Mom. Her smile is big and loving, her eyes are hazel blue.

“It’s hard to describe” I reply. "It’s a feeling I get from the exquisite beauty. The sight, the silence, the air, everything flowing together. There is just something about that sparkle.”

“Well always remember, dear daughter, that no matter what happens in life, never let anyone take your sparkle away.”

You can always count on Mom for some wonderfully helpful advice. We hug as the fireplace pops and Dad makes a grand announcement:

“Dinner is ready! I hope you are hungry. Tortellini Alfredo with extra cheese. And please leave some room for dessert. Lots of vanilla ice cream over warm pumpkin pie." He owns a nice restaurant in the city.

We are deeply grateful for his delicious cooking and for giving us this snow cabin memory.

I’ll go back outside later.

Short Story

About the Creator

Lese Dunton

Essayist, reporter, and book author. Writes about everything.

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  • Babs Iverson2 years ago

    Lovely story!!!

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