Snow In April

Snow on my birthday was the best possible gift Denver could have given me after the past five birthdays here. That is not to say that the others haven’t been beautiful in their own way, but instead to say that now, finally at 32, an age that I never thought I would reach, a blanket of soft, fresh, silent snow, is exactly what I wanted from Mother Nature.

I have often made loud declarations about how snow is “the ideal weather pattern,” listing all of the earthly, desert-raised reasons why that blanket of life giving moisture is exactly what this dry and burnt land needs.

I’ll tell you about the aquifers refilling

The soil soaking up what will carry it through summer

The lowered rates of wildfires after snowy winters

I’ll tell you about how there is nothing better for this side of the country than some good quality snow.

Growing up on the suicidal side of the mental health spectrum is peculiar; you tend to set a date for yourself early on that you “won’t make it past.” You refer to it in grotesque jokes eliciting awkward giggles from those around you. You do foolish things like drop out of college multiple times, pour an entire summer and bank account into a post graduation drug phase. You run up credit cards with no intent to pay. You ignore basic health needs. You avoid building a “real” career for yourself. You avoid relationships. You avoid plans. You just burn through life, because in your mind, there will be no need for the trees in your forest sometime soon. You become a wildfire. You drain the aquifers. You ravage your own terrain without a second thought. Because you won’t need it where you’re going in a few years.

My year was 31.

My expiration date.

The summer of my 30th year tested this date; looked me straight in the eye and dared me to finish burning my forest down.

And then, in 2020, the universe snowed.

Not the beautiful light dusting that makes us all feel like Christmas and hot cocoa, but the blizzard that ravages cities and rips down power lines. The ground froze so solid that not a single thing could grow and any buds pushing through withered and died in the frost. We as a society were buried in above our heads without any help to shovel out. We were forced into our dens, into hibernation, and for some of us, into the most terrifying and painful year of our collective lives.

Because I am a white woman who somehow always lands on my feet, my year was still one that showed my privilege, both socially and economically. As terrifying as it was, I lucked into unemployment pay, a roof over my head, meals in my belly, and the knowledge that as long as my family and friends still walked this earth, I would always have a plan, a home, a meal, an aquifer.

And so I was able to sit with my brain for over a year. I was able to listen to her stories, to decipher her clues and messages, I was able to pause and reflect in a way that I never had before, because the snow had come to extinguish my wildfire, to stop my burn. Mother Nature had put a blanket on me and said “No, not now. Not until we’re both ready. Nurture your soil instead, because one day you’ll grow.”

The snow came, bringing with it a blizzard of support and love that sat with me until my soil was ready to absorb it, until it melted down and refilled the aquifer I had drained long ago. It dampened the ashes I had burnt myself down to, turning them from a ravaged, desolate wasteland, into a place where green life could finally grow again, nourished by the carbon from the charr I had been creating for half of my life. And finally, the forest started to grow back.

It wasn’t the trees or the flowers that used to inhabit this space, no.

It was the evolution of those- the stronger of the species.

It was moss,

and fungus,

and wildflowers,

all of the things that grow out of cracks and dead things.

All of the things that fight back against decay and replenish the soil so that the big, solid things can grow again.

And so now I am here, not necessarily a full forest yet, but more of a mossy meadow, blanketed in green but still rebuilding. A light breeze flowing through carrying the words

“If there’s a reason I’m still alive, when so many around the world have died, I’m willing to wait for.”

And I have a life ahead of me that I never planned for. A life that so many others don’t have the privilege of living, because they didn’t make it out so lucky.

So here I am, saying “Fuck it, I’m going to live it.”

I am going to take my mossy, regrown self to places I’ve always dreamed of, doing things I always wondered about. Because I have time I had never allotted myself before..

Because my aquifer is full now.

Because Denver snowed, doused my destructive fire, controlled the burn, and let me regrow.

I love you Denver.

I love you Albuquerque.

I love you Southwest.

Warmest wishes, kindest regards.

See you again one day.