THOUGHTS DURING A FEBRUARY BLIZZARD

"After the Fall"
by Judy Westergard
graphite on paper
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Snow has been falling all day in Minneapolis. Predictions call for snow all night and into Monday. After three balmy days during which we were seduced with spring-like temperatures, winter has returned and this Narnian blizzard draws me to the windows as if staring at snow too thick to see through, could change something. Last night I was transfixed by the moon light on my newly snow-free patio. Tonight I know that beautiful full moon is there behind snow-filled clouds, but the only light higher than my head comes from the dim glow of leaden street lamps. The snow is frustrating, yet it, too, is beautiful. And I'm reminded of winter days over half a century ago, walking home from school with Karen, our pre-adolescent voices recreating a round taught to us by Rita Marie Andrescik, who came to our grade school once a week to teach music:
Snow on, snow In lovely whiteness everywhere. Moonlight is breaking To make the night so fair....
We'd vary the pitch, we'd try different rhythms, change the dynamics ("No! Let's hold that last note for a count of eight and fade!" one of us would insist.) We were oblivious to everything and everyone around us, intent only on recreating the skills we learned with that haunting melody. Tonight I'm still haunted by the beauty of the snow, but even more so by rapidly changing seasons and days that go by too fast. After the fall comes winter, and after winter comes spring. I know it. So why, on this blizzardy night, does spring seem to far away?