Snowy Winter Nights
One of the earliest memories I can recall comes from when I was about four years old.
I would often find myself woken up by the winter wind. It was always very late into the night when this happened; a strange hour when the whole world was asleep.
I’d usually just lay under the safety of my warm, heavy blankets and listen to the howls and whips before dozing off again. But other times, when I was sure no one would hear me, I’d slip out of my bed and slink down the hall. At the end was a big window that overlooked our deserted yard, and on these nights I liked to sit there for a long while.
I would listen as branches would scrape against the windows downstairs, and the hour was so quiet that it felt like the house was almost breathing with the wind. It would creak and rattle each time the wind rose, only to settle once more when the gusts died back down. I could feel the chill of the winter air shiver through the window when that happened, and there was something I really liked about putting my hand against the cold, wet panes.
I liked to watch snow drift across the field, too. On clearer nights, the moon above gave it this milky-white glow, and each gust of wind spun up the snow like little twinkling tornadoes.
On rare occasions, if I was lucky, I would see the silhouette of a deer. Then another. Then more. Long, haunting shadows dancing over moonlit snow.
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