Air

Does one hunger for air? Thirst for it? Whether it's a thirst or a hunger, I crave air. Specifically, cold air. I love the sting in my lungs on a winter run––it's why I always take off my neck warmer in the last 100m, to breath in the fresh air. Fresh air is why I like to wear tank tops when I ride a bike, to feel the air on my skin. I like everything that comes along with the cold. I like the goosebumps and the rosy cheeks, the tingling on my skin when I come back inside. I especially love it when I get fresh air before bed, when my cheeks are still cool as I lay down on my pillow.

Mostly, though, I love air because it gives me space. I get claustrophobic when I don't have enough room to breathe, to stretch. My friend told me that one of the hardest parts about college for her is the lack of space. She doesn't have room to stretch her limbs. She longs to just spread out her arms without hitting anything.

This past week, I had two beautiful open-air experiences. The first was on Sunday, before the big blizzard. My mom, stepdad and I ran around Walden Pond, lost in the snowy woods with the blue sky peaking through the trees. But the best part was the end of the run, when we emerged out from the woods onto the snow-covered lake, a great tundra in the middle of Concord, MA. So many times have I swam across that lake, but never have I run across it. And I just kept laughing, like I do when something is so great and somewhat unbelievable, the same kind of laugh I get in English class when my teacher or a classmate makes a particularly profound connection. There was just so much space on that lake. I felt like I do when I swim straight out at Skaket Beach on the Cape, into the horizon. This tundra is another place I will return to when I'm needing air.

And then there was Tuesday, the day of the blizzard. After a day spent inside, I was craving the air by 10:00pm. I went for a walk by myself around the neighborhood, trudging through the three feet of snow in my driveway. At some places, I couldn't even lift my feet. When I got to the end of the driveway, I had to practically climb over the pile of snow to get to the snowplowed street. Now on the plowed road, I skipped, ran, spun, and hummed at odd intervals. There was a driving ban because of the snow, and the snow had stopped falling awhile ago, so I didn't even have to worry about running into a plow. I threw my arms out and pranced in diagonals down the hill and then up it, my shadow lively in the streetlights. No one could see me. I had the world to myself. It was so remarkably freeing.

Cappuccino Dunes

We run along cappuccino dunes, steam rising from their foamed milk tops. The wind blows the sand in cinnamon swirls. It's appetizing. It makes me crave the whistle of the tea kettle back home. I can almost feel the hot mug in my hands, feel the coffee slide down my throat and into my stomach, smell it on my breathe as I puff, puff, puff in this frigid air.

Cooped Up

Mother Nature is on her own schedule this year. It doesn't matter that it's the end of March and technically spring...we still have snow on the ground. Welcome to New England. Two weeks ago I saw a robin and the birds chirped in the morning and flower buds began to peak out, and it really started to feel like spring. Early April Fools! A foot of snow last Tuesday.

I'm ready for hibernation to be over. I'm feeling antsy. I want to swim in the ocean and bike ride to get French pastries and run in shorts and a T-shirt. I'm anxious to read my book outside and feel the sand between my toes...I'm tired of socks.

Outside slush runs off the roof, and with it, winter hopefully melts away for the season. A cool breeze blows the brittle branches of the dogwood tree now, but soon the temperature will rise and the branches will be warm with full fuzzy flower buds. The sun struggles to force her way through a mass of clouds, but she's there. She has not abandoned us.

My winter jacket is like a binding. I just want to spread my wings and fly in a warm breeze.

I agree with Maya Angelou. "I know why the caged bird sings."

Like a Snowflake

"Every time you get on that stage, you dance your heart out. Because you will never dance the same exact dance on the same exact stage with the same exact people ever again," my friend's mom said. Every moment is like a snowflake; no two are alike. 

Home from school today on a snowy afternoon. Smoothies this morning, with a ginger zing. Bread rises on the stovetop; it takes a long inhale and exhales at the slightest touch. Grandma's homemade soup keeps me warm as I'm curled up on the couch in my baggy sweats. We went outside to help my grandfather shovel this morning, and we made a snowman and a snow dog (a tribute to our dog Mocha). Our cheeks were rosy and our throats cold and it made our house seem so much warmer. I love snowbound days when I am forced to stay home. It makes me notice the things in my own environment that I forget otherwise. There's so many places I want to travel and explore, but I forget what's right outside my door. I need to know my own home before I know anywhere else. Before I know anything else, I need to know myself.

Into the Wardrobe

http://www.sxc.hu/photo/1101044

When I woke up to a white-frosted world this morning, I knew my skis were in for a treat. All winter they had been waiting, waiting for snow to fall so they could revisit Narnia, because every time I step in the woods in winter, I can't help but feel like I, too, am but a character of C.S. Lewis's imagination. 

I part the branches and brambles and frozen flower buds that had been tricked into early bloom, and it is like I had stepped into the wardrobe. Behind me lay a world so ordinary, where animals don't talk and trees go bare in the winter. But here, here the trees are dressed to the nines in their finest furs, wearing them as they see best flatter their curves. White fox scarves wrapped tightly around their necks and rabbit fur gloves that stretch up to their shoulders. The women curtsy and the men tip their hats, sometimes a little too generously as they fall and land on my head.  

I pull down my neck warmer to let the cool air bite my chin and my nose breath the fresh air, not the hot air circulating in my jacket. Snow perches on my eyelashes and I roll my eyes to see their different shapes but they melt and drip in my eyes before I have the chance. Snow puffs around my ankles like powdered sugar. My cheeks flush rosy-red like Santa Claus. 

I follow the animal tracks and who knows, perhaps they will lead me to a beaver's den, or a faun's home. Oh I hope a faun's home! Where I can warm my frozen hands on a hot mug of tea and dry my boots by the fire as he plays me a Narnia lullaby. He will be ever so hospitable and welcoming, but really I must be getting home, it is getting late, dark. And it is just my imagination, or was that the howl of wolves, pursuing me for the White Witch? I must move fast, lest I risk running into the hands of the White Witch.  I can't wait to bring the others back, though! Show them the wonders of a snowy wood, show them what lay beyond the wardrobe. 

How do you enjoy the snow? Do you admire up close or from afar? I have to say it's been quite a winter in my area...snow in October, nothing November-February, and again the first day of March. It was the perfect opportunity to stay in my PJ's all day and curl up with a hot cup of soup for lunch. After all day of staying inside, though, I couldn't resist; I had to visit Narnia just once before it melted back into the everyday. (And it gave me lots to notice ;) )

Sweet Winter Dreams,

Megan ;)