…Or, Bright White

Today, I walked outside.  And, as sometimes happens when the piled-high banks of pure white snow lining the dusty edges of Cambridge sidewalks reflects the winter sunlight with preternatural brightness, I had to close my eyes.  And I smiled.

And I realized as I headed through the park on my way to class that there is something indefinably comforting about those moments when the whiteness all around becomes so beautiful, you can’t even look at it.  It’s warm, and encompassing, and safe.  It reminds me of the opening scene from John August’s The Nines.  And it reminds me of the rocky mountains, and Colorado, and of home.  And it makes me smile.

Which is perhaps all one can ask of a chill winter morning.




Filed under Caterwauling, Stories

2 responses to “…Or, Bright White

  1. Maia

    But I agree — the walk through the Common has been consistently top-notch all week.

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