Until I see it with my own eyes I don’t believe it.

It might be a rumor sent around to mess with those of us who suffer from this particular kind of yearning. (This yearning is life-long and it is incurable.)

Even once I see it with my own eyes, I still can’t easily get past my disbelief that something so wonderful is happening on a Thursday afternoon (or a Monday morning!).

The remedy for this disbelief is: Bundle up and go outside, just to be certain it is true.

Snow offers a perfect opportunity to contemplate impermanence.

When it is snowing, it is easy to believe that this is now and forever the quality of the world: strangely glowing, no edges, filled with almost inaudible sounds, still and chill.

The intensity of a life-long and incurable yearning for snow is strongly positively correlated with an attachment to the desire to live in a snowy world forever.

Snow offers a perfect opportunity to contemplate impermanence (and attachment, but that’s a topic for another time).

Sometimes when you wake up in the morning, the snow is gone. It is as if the snow was never here. You are disconcerted and forlorn and maybe slightly heart broken. 

Sometimes you watch over the course of a day as the snow slowly changes in structure and substance. You watch the snow transform back into liquid minute by minute. You can tell by the new sounds you hear that the snow is leaving soon.

Snow offers the perfect opportunity to contemplate impermanence.

My advice, if you want it, is that when you’ve verified with your own eyes, ears, mouth, hands and feet that in fact the rumors are true, that snow is visiting your world, you must without haste bundle up and go outside.

It doesn’t matter what you hear about how long snow will be around. There’s a more crucial imperative: Play in this snow now. Bathe in this snow now. Consume this snow now.

Know this snow. Now.

Snow offers the perfect opportunity to contemplate impermanence.