Beginning

My eyes are closed, but I am held suspended in a mesh of sensory experience. Every chirp, every drop, every rustle stirs sentiments that defy words. It feels surreal, safe, like being cradled inside a mother’s womb, and lulled gently to sleep. The skeleton of a snowflake lands on the apple of my cheek and starts running down in streams. Its cool trail etches on my skin the impression of pathways, roads travelled, places seen. I can feel the softness of a breath on the nape of my neck, but realize the wind is playing tricks. I play along, allowing my attention to wander as aimlessly as the snowflakes. When I open my eyes, there are hundreds of them swirling and dancing through the air, then bursting on my bare skin like bubbles of excitement.

I stand alone in a field, surrounded by a blanket of snow. It looks clean and pure, like the beginning of life. For miles around, there is nothing else. A slight panic ensues. Where do I go? There are no carved roads that lead, no signposts to direct and no chimneys billowing smoke. In the far distance is a horizon, and adrift all around me is beautiful snow. I summon the courage to lift a foot. As it floats forward and sinks momentariy, my heart sinks with it. Is this an abysmal plunge? But it does meet with solid ground. I lift another foot and feel it sink with slightly less trepidation. In this way, I lumber toward that elusive horizon, step after step, one bated breath after another, until suddenly, the outline of a city emerges.

Peeking from behind the lofty arms of bare trees are rooftops. Their harshness of geometry is softened by fluffy snow. Feeble lights twinkle, beacon-like, inviting into their warm glow. As I draw closer, the perfume of oaky smoke begins to excite. Closer still and the mundane sight of signposts wells up tears. Now at the edge of the field, exhausted yet exhilarated, I turn back to look at that blanket of snow. Carved into its frigid fabric are my footprints, winding a new path through an unknown field.