One Last Snowfall

My boyfriend and I pile into his car and drive to the nature park close to my apartment. It’s a cold, dreary day that seems to threaten rain or some other sort of wintery concoction. Yet we power on, because I miss hiking. There is nothing quite like the feeling of brisk walks while my fingertips freeze. We choose the shorter route, but it still leads us through trails amongst wetland and pine trees. The whole time I can barely feel my nose even though it’s nearly 40 degrees. A few weeks of sun and I forget how to deal with cold, apparently.

As we walk we joke around and laugh, carrying walking sticks and making up silly explorer voices. After we’ve been on the trail for a while, he remarks, “You’re really in your element out here, aren’t you?” I take a moment to think about that statement, so simple and yet it summarizes everything about my hatred for dull office buildings and spreadsheets and the dreaded march towards corporate life. For some reason that phrase seems to set me free, because I smile and laugh and say, “Yes, you’re right. I’m happiest out here.” When I’m outside I feel alive, in the purest sense of the word. I feel connected to my body and the dirt caked on my shoes. I know why I’m alive in those moments.

It’s as if my happiness has a seat at the table for once, as if now its importance has been spoken into the world. I find myself giddy with possibilities as we walk on, through leafless trees and a forest that feels empty as animals still hide from the cold. He shouts out into the distance and we hear a large echo that seems to travel miles into the woods. I fall into the natural rhythm of the forest and forget time exists.

Soon it’s Monday and reality hits me like a freight train. I’m back to the grind of confusion and senseless direction forward. I google articles on everything from “escaping office life” to outdoor wilderness blogs and tips for becoming a freelancer. As I search, I grow desperate and itchy in my seat. I feel hopeless and fight it back down. As the hours pass, I try to envision the natural universe as it waits for me. Somewhere out there, it remains calm and patient until I can return.

I finally walk out of my work office an hour early, as snow has begun collecting in the parking lot. The flakes are the sticky kind. Swift waves of powder fall from the sky and coat my hair in chunks of white. My windshield is already covered, too. I hurry to my car but breathe in for a moment as I walk, trying to take in the moment. It’s almost mid-April, and this snow fall might be the last until next year. Even though I’m ready for the snow to leave, I can’t help acknowledging its beauty as I watch it fall. Everything around me is silent. There is no one else in the parking lot and I capture a moment of peace in the midst of this dull Monday. All morning I’ve felt anxiety clawing through my throat as it begs to be heard. The snow seems to blanket that too.

I’m still outside, pausing before hopping into the car, and I can feel the wind brush against my cheek bones. My caffeine headache subdues in the cold. I forget what was so terrifying about the future. I forget moments outside of this one.

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