Some things look good enough to eat. I have always loved snow. As a winter baby, it is probably inherent to my nature. The best birthday present I can think of is a snow storm. Or at least a dusting. As a kid, I often sat with my elbows on my bedroom windowsill watching snow fall outside. At night it looked like a stage set – three large elm trees (sadly, all long gone due to Dutch Elm disease) converged on a corner to create a large canopy. Under the blanket of quiet, snowflakes fell in the blue light that reflected off the snow on the ground. Under the yellow cone of light cast by a street lamp, everything was clearly visible. It was a combination of cool and warm, being inside and looking out at the blue and yellow and white. It is something I have always found mesmerizing. Watching snow fall at night is magical.
As is snow under the brightest sun of a sunny winter’s day. Snow is ethereal. It is white, a non-colour, and it is soft and quiet and cold. It is temporal, here only for as long as the temperature dictates. And it is fickle, morphing between a solid state and a liquid one (and sometimes a solid frozen one).
Something about snow makes one want to eat it. Taste it, the way a dog sticks his tongue into a snow bank for a quick sample, leaving a tiny depression behind as the only evidence. Or the way a kid will lean her head back and open her mouth to allow some flakes to land on her lips. Snow looks delicious. A fresh mountain of fluffy snow makes you want to dip a spoon in a take a big bite.
And while you may not actually do that (well, unless you live way out in the countryside where the air is clean), it’s something to dream about.