...the smell of snow.
One would think I'd have noticed such a thing before, some time during 50 years of winters. But it felt like a brand new discovery this week.
Surely during childhood, when my face was periodically buried in the snow, either by mishap or some mischief maker, I must have experienced the smell of snow. I certainly knew the taste. When my own children were small, I became reacquainted with the taste of snow. "Eat 'no!" was one of my youngest daughter's earliest phrases. Eat snow - she loved it. So I had to try it too, and then I remembered that taste, kind of minerally, almost metallic, light, fresh, more distinct than you would imagine.
Some time during this past week, while snowshoeing around the back fields (what an amazing year for snow excursions!), I was suddenly struck by the scent, wafting through the air over acres of whiteness. It was instantly familiar, because it was the scent version of the taste of snow. It had never occurred to me that one could smell snow, but there it was. So I had to taste it too, for confirmation. There is plenty of it to go around.
I wonder if my year of daily connecting to the outdoors has enhanced my observational aptitudes...? I'd like to imagine it's true.
Writing has become a daily activity in my life, as I hoped would happen. I have taken on a second book project. My biggest challenge now is to finish. A 700 word weekly column is one thing; to finish a book is an entirely different challenge. I seem to be good at starting, but haven't managed to see a book through to completion. I am working on seeing it happen, in my mind's eye. Then I have to see it happen on my computer screen.