2005-02-18
Snow Falling on Cedars
I wonder if the snow-filled forest in Quebec can still hear the echo of laughter--giggles and happy squeels whilst he threw me snowballs. And I dodged (or tried) and frantically picked up the bits and pieces of powdery ice that soaked through my gloves. I should have worn mittens, but didn't.
We went exploring under the inviting gray sky, under the canopy of snow-capped cedars and stepping on the fragile mountains of snow--small mounds covering summer's long-forgotten branches of trees, and brown-caked grass. I stepped lightly, yet, with each step, my snowboots sunk into the ground, oftentimes, swallowing my entire leg. He'd look back and smile and chuckle, and, it was the happiest moment of my life.
He came up to me, with my cheeks feeling frozen, and my nose singing the symphony of sniffles...and, he rubbed his red-nose against my own. I looked into his glacier blue eyes as he gently cupped my face in both hands and looked down to stare into my eyes. I couldn't feel our lips touch, my lips were far too numb. But my heart felt it all...and we held tightly to one another--as close as our winter clothes would permit. The snow beneath our feet gave out and we sunk and laughed and felt the moon smile down.
I layed back in his arms and we looked up at the sky, and saw the frozen lake beyond us, with large cedars all around--like a winter wonderland...he went to go and fetch water. We shoveled and drilled and laughed. I cleared the path up the hill, wrapped in my scarf and toque...and I felt closer to him than ever before.
The world ceases to matter during moments such as these--what others tend to think; the viles of humanity; disdain for A Life of Principles; jealousy; bitterness; contempt; anger; hatred--all rubbish when the world is the diamond I keep in my pocket. Splitting it in half, I will hand it to him.
How one person can teach me so much is...wondrous. He tells me my scent is that of sunshine--not the perfumed, manufacture scent; the warm, inviting scent you take comfort in when you wake up next to someone. His is of familiarity and safety. I wake up beside him and wrap my arm around his chest and pull him closer to me.
What happens when one forgets how to make love to everyone else except that one special person? It's wonderful, methinks.
I do not know what it is like to make love to any other man...except him. Nor will I bother with finding out. I just wonder if the snow-capped cedars in Quebec still pass our voices' echoes through their leaves...