Last night the first flakes of snow fell on Providence.  When I awoke, the ground had been lightly covered by the white dust of snow, and everything from trees to cars to rooftops carried the brightness of sunlight stored in ice.  Due to Providence’s proximity to the water, we don’t get much snow here, and given that I grew up in the semi-arid climate of Los Angeles, I get very excited whenever meteorology conspires to bring these beautiful conditions to my backyard.  Granted, the novelty of snow wears off fairly quickly, as the purity soon turns to slush and muck, but I refuse to believe that idealism and perfectionism inherent to youth must inevitably give way to cynicism and doubt.  I feel very strongly that the entire cycle of beauty and passion are to be appreciated and celebrated–from the initial first rush, to the inevitable slush, to the crackle and decay of wood and leaves.  I wrote a poem dealing with this very issue last year. The poem, titled ”The First Snow,” expresses my firm belief that ideals–purity, idealism, beauty–are not the problem, rather, the problem is with people who are unable to do those ideals justice.  Read on for more musings and photos of the snow!

I also wrote another poem last year related to the snow titled ”The Lover.” There’s something about a snowy day that makes me feel introspective, as though the lack of sunlight illuminating the contours of the Earth forces me to shine an internal light on the working of my being.  That is, in the winter clarity does not result from the sun’s overwhelming rays, but rather from the filtered light the clouds allow through and the snow reflects with a fierce intensity.  I feel a need to glow, to reflect, to filter the world and give back to it only the best, the most just, and the most beautiful.