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Monthly Archives: January 2016

Happy New Year!

As the storytellers welcome in 2016, we wanted to take a moment to wish you and yours a happy New Year!. We hope 2016 meets you with smiles, laughs, and a few stories to share! Please feel free to pay us a visit on the second Wednesday of each month at 1:00 pm. Please contact our storytellers supervisor, Jess with questions or inquiries at 610-525-5850. Thank you and we look forward to seeing you at our next storytellers gathering, Wednesday February 10th at 1:00 pm.

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Snowflakes remind me of…

 

BY STEVEN COLLIER

Peace. There’s not much in this world that does. But, the sight of any snow fills me a sense of tranquility.

I think this is what most bad poets are trying to convey when they go on bout how much they adore rainy days. However, as you may have already guessed, I don’t share their sentiments. I mean let’s just do run down of the language.

How do we describe rain? It falls, it pelts us, it’s torrential downpours. Even if it’s a gentle rain it constantly patters across the roof. Name me one other thing people enjoy that constantly patters across their roof.

Ever heard someone say, “man, I love the fact that we have a nest of squirrels in the attack. Their constant pattering is so freaking soothing”.

No! of course not it’s bloody annoying.  But this is not the appropriate venue to express my seething hatred for liquid hail. Or squirrels. Or bad poets for that matter.

Like I said, there’s not much that brings me peace. However there is snow. I’m not entirely sure why this is. Maybe it’s because of how stupendously unnatural it is. Everything about snow seems to run in contradiction to any natural laws of physics and/or life.

What else can fall thousands of feet and hit the ground in total silence. You can’t listen for snow. Its not going to patter all over everything. No, it goes through it’s entire life span without any fanfare. It floats down lights the ground (or maybe your jacket) and usual melts into nothing a second later; gone as quickly as it appeared.

Tiny flecks of crystalline lightning with no raging thunder to accompany their departure. Snow is a very zen sort of condensation, in that respect. It is here for a fleeting, impossible moment, and then it departs. Perhaps it sits for a few days in silent meditation of its surroundings, but is only ever as a passive observer.

It can blanket the landscape, coat it, shape itself like a glove to the precise contour of every hill. But it only imitates what is already there. Snow is content to just go with the flow. Lay back. Chill. Sorry, that was a terrible pun.

But I had to throw it in there. I was starting to sound a little too much like those terrible, rain-worshiping poets for my own comfort.

I guess what I am trying to say is that I don’t understand why snow gets such a bad rep. This time of year people begin to preemptively gripe about snow while they festoon their lawns with giant novelty. Snowmen and snowglobes. I could point out this hypocrisy, but I just did.

People resent snow because they view it as an impediment to their personal progress. Like the snow is out to get them.

They’d say, “Ugh, how am I supposed to get to work with all this now?”. When the answer is so obvious: they won’t.

And neither will most of their peers. They’ll have to it still for a day. Yes you look at me like this is an inconvenience. But, I’ve always seen it as more of an invitation. When snow coats the countryside and forces all the world into still, white, silence; It asks us to join it in quiet meditation or to venture out and place an mark or two on it.It turns the land into a single sheet of blank, frozen parchment, and as a writer, I can definitely appreciate that.. or just pack it into balls of frigid pain to fling at all those moody poets wishing it was raining.

Either way, the world is mine to sculpt for one day. I can carve whatever adventure or respite I need from that merciful ice.  And when I spent most of the year scrambling to keep up with the pace of everyone else, that momentary peace is nothing sort of miraculous.

Noel, everyone.