February Snow

Memories of fresh snowfall and the magic it can bring

February 1 in the French edition of Book of Days

February is here. ❄️ In anticipation of this day, I thought of the story behind the photo above, the one that starts out this month in my mom’s, Book of Days. It’s a picture of me in the heavy snow, holding bouquets of fresh roses during that wild snowfall of 2021. Were you in NYC that day? It was after the lockdown, and we were all still in the midst of quarantine, at the height of hibernation season, keeping to ourselves within the nooks of our homes. We all went to sleep on the last day of January and didn’t know we would wake up to a whole different city. It was as though nature was so happy to have some privacy and wanted to stretch out and be itself for a while. 

That morning when I opened my eyes, I immediately noticed that special kind of bright light shining through the linen curtain. ❄️ I left my apartment door open, climbed down the stairs in my pajamas, and pulled opened the front door to find the most extraordinary sight - the front steps and sidewalk, the cars and street, everything outside was completely covered in billowing sheets of settled snow, still falling from the sky in huge shimmering flurries with no signs of slowing down. I felt like a little child again, that feeling of looking out the window to find that everything is magical, like being inside 1000 snow globes, when you can hear the fun music soundtracking everything. ❄️

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I remember the first steps that morning, when my heavy boots sunk right through, the snow reaching up to my shins. The front stairs of each building were mountains of discarded snow cones, no path to walk on the sidewalk, and nobody else in sight! I felt like I was the only person awake in New York City. I wanted to do something to help, fearing the steps and sidewalk might turn soon to ice, making it dangerous as the day went on. So I got suited up, gathered my supplies, and got to work. I shoveled the steps on the buildings of our street, salted each stair, shoveled some more, and shoveled a clear path all along the sidewalk, salting the ice that started forming on the bottom, making sure everything was safe and walkable. It was tiring, and though I was cold and in need of coffee, I felt proud and happy about getting the job done. 

Before shoveling had commenced

Maybe it was because of the Valentines season who knows, but I wished at that very moment that someone would bring me a bouquet of flowers. Maybe a cup of hot chocolate, too. I started imagining how beautiful bright red roses would look against the backdrop of the snow, and decided I really wanted to see that sight. So I put away the shovel and salt, walked to the deli, and bought four bouquets of roses - two red, one pink, and one white. As I walked back through the streets holding them all, each person I passed would smile or comment on their beauty. Something about seeing bouquets of roses during that time was just so wonderful. They seemed to have a different presence and impact than they had before, as if we all appreciated flowers in a new way, not realizing how much we had missed them. One person shouted from across the street, ‘who are those for?!’ to which I responded, ‘they’re for me!’ They asked again, ‘who gave them to you?’ to which I said, ‘I did!’ :)

As I kept walking, I saw my mom on the street, and that’s when she took the photo of me from the page in Book of Days marking February 1. ‘Jesse with roses in the snow,’ it says. We put them in vases and I shared them all with her. Bright red roses amongst the snow. A classic and welcome image. 

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A few hours later, I met my friend and neighbor Wendy Nichol, and we took a walk to Washington Square Park, eager to see how the snow had settled there. There were hardly any people on the streets, so we figured it would be quiet and bare, like a scene from a postcard. As we arrived, we found the most amazing sight - people of all ages gathered together in childlike splendor - building snowmen, snow families, snow sculptures, making snow angels, sledding. It was such a pure sight of true happiness, something the city and the world was in dire need of - just playfulness, playtime, togetherness - joy for the sake of joy. Families were there with their children, groups of friends, couples, people there on their own, taking in the magic of everything. It was heartbreaking in the most beautiful way. Everything felt safe. 

Washington Square Park, February 1, 2021

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That evening as I walked home, the lights from the street lamps looked like fireflies in the trees. Everything was picturesque, yearning to be photographed, yet still, un-wanting of anything. Before settling in for the night, I shoveled and salted the steps and sidewalk one last time and looked around. The city felt calm and peaceful. 

5:05pm, February 1, 2021

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The following day, videos of a giant friendly snowball fight in Washington Square Park stormed across the internet. It was a scene of pure release, of people just missing each other, missing activity, action, movement, spontaneity, a chance to feel something light, a chance to turn off their minds, if even for a moment.

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What do you think of when you see the snow? Does it remind you of being little? Does it make you want to get outside and play? Does it invite you to get super cozy indoors with a warm beverage? Do you like sledding, building snow sculptures, or other snow activities? Something about snow makes me so happy, and also a little sad, this nostalgia for the past, this longing for another time. 

Here are two snow poems, one from Emily Brontë and one from Robert Frost

Is there a snow poem or snow words that you like? Do you want to write any words about the snow today? I would love to read them if you would like to share them. :)

It isn’t snowing today in NYC, and it might be warm where you are reading this from. Wherever you are, I wish you the magic and playfulness of a snowy winter morning when we were little kids, and I hope this first day of February brings you all the gifts of a joyful morning.   

Happy February!