Trees outside this morning look like they’ve been basted with thick confectioner’s sugar cake frosting. It’s only 6 degrees here, with mounds of crystal white snow all over the place … topping fences, bird feeders, shrubs. I ask myself – What’s a Florida girl doing in a place like Spokane, Washington?
After moving to Upper Michigan as a new bride, with their 120” annual snowfall, I feel more acclimated to this kind of weather now than to the searing heat of Pensacola, Florida, from March – October, although I do miss the sandy white beaches of the Gulf Coast … unless there’s an oil spill, of course! That does color things a bit – no pun intended.
It occurs to me, this New Year’s Eve, that where we live is relative to the people we love, and how and why we landed where we do in the great scheme of things is a continued story in our lives. Yesterday, driving to a shop to buy knitting supplies … always need a new knitting project for a snow storm … I saw tall fir trees laden with sugar-frosting snow, standing poised, as ballerinas on stage, waiting for the music to begin. It reminded me of waiting for the music of our lives to begin, when in reality it was other people’s music we would dance to, depending on our roles at the time. When do we get to dance to our own music? Why do some of us wait so long to figure this out?
I know that for me personally it’s time to dance to my own music, however slow and mellow it might be. I’m done skiing, and will never put on another pair of ice skates, by choice. But I can still dance to my own music. That’s exactly what I plan to do this year.