In the Company of Strangers

On the Necessity of Snow Angels for the Well Being of the World, by Grace Butcher

Wherever there is snow, I go,
making angels along the way
Luckily angels have no gender
and are easier to make
than you might think.

All you have to do is let go,
fall on your back,
look up at the sky as if in prayer.
Move your arms like wings.
Move your legs to make a robe.
Rise carefully so as to do no harm,
and walk away.

All the angels along the path behind you
will sparkle in sunlight, gleam under the stars. 
In spring the angels will be invisible
but really they are still there,
their outlines remain on the earth
where you put them, waiting
for you and the snow to return.

Keep walking,
towards the next beautiful thing
you will do.

In spring the angels will be invisible? The poet says so, and yet on this spring day they are all too visible! I had a plan for what I would write this week, but, once again, the weather has stopped me in my tracks. We are currently having a nor-easter. The same storm that has been wreaking havoc all across the country during the last few days landed here in Maine with a vengeance last night. Several inches of heavy wet snow fell during the night. Once again trees and tree branches have fallen, taking power lines down with them. We lost power around 5 AM. As I write, the snow is still falling, the wind is howling, and the generators are droning on and on. The news stations predict it will take 5 days to get power back to everyone in Maine. And the Portland Press Herald just sent an email saying they will not be printing tomorrow’s paper.

Lucky me, I do not have to go anywhere. Lucky me, I can get the paper online. And — lucky me — I love snow, so I can marvel at the beauty of it all, despite the inconveniences it brings.

Watching the snow today reminds me of a long-ago blizzard on another day when life stopped me in my tracks and dropped an unexpected gift into my hands. Winds were high that day, too. Snow was pelting the land below, and visibility was terrible.

And there I was, navigating the Massachusetts Turnpike in a near-complete whiteout.

I was on my way to work. Because it was a Sunday morning — and a blizzard! — very few cars were on the road. Suddenly, the car two cars ahead of me began to skid. We behind him slowed down and carefully crawled forward in his swerving wake, like a parade of lame elephants, until the distressed driver lost control of his car completely and headed off into a snowbank. Ever so gently, so as not to skid ourselves, the two cars behind him – mine included – eased to a stop.

And there we sat – simply sat.

Stopped in our tracks.

No horns blaring, no angry drivers pulling around the temporarily disabled car and speeding away in a huff.

Just simple patience.

I looked ahead. No cars in sight. In the rearview mirror, I could see distant headlights creeping toward us. Snow tumbled from the sky, as if to enclose us in a snow globe. As if to capture a moment when three stopped cars created a community of strangers right there on the Massachusetts Turnpike. As if to freeze, in my mind at least, the picture of patience . . . the memory of just being where I was . . . the feeling of just being.

I am not always a patient driver. How often I had traveled that highway thinking of the nearby cars as mere obstacles! How often people rocket through life glimpsing their precious journeys only in the momentary flashes such speeds afford!

How often, I wonder, are we aware of our own presence in life's embrace? Living creatures, we ever act and react within that embrace. Life holds us, even in the company of strangers. There on the highway, a community of drivers. There in the aisles of Hannaford, Shaws, and Walmart with our fellow, harried shoppers. There on the busses, in the schoolyards, in the classrooms. There in the forest, a part of a life system that includes the wind, the trees, the pine needles beneath our feet, the squirrel scolding us from yonder branch. Even in death, our bodies become part of the organic system that nourishes our beloved earth.

Life can sweep me up into such a hectic pace that I easily become distracted. I can become wrapped in a fog that prevents me from being mindful, prevents me from seeing what is happening inside and around me. But when I take the time to notice the sustaining life systems that ever form and disband around me, I open my arms and heart to a beautiful gift. I see patterns, I make connections. I find meaning.

Life is a miracle that will happen, whether I notice or not. But, when I don’t notice, my time here is diminished. When I do notice — when I open my eyes, ears, and heart to find blessings where I can — the miracle of it all can take my breath away.

Sometimes, life stops us in our tracks, and we jolt awake suddenly. At such times it helps to ease ourselves to a stop ever so gently. Once we stop, the gift begins.

So it was for me that Sunday morning long ago. It took just a few moments for the distressed driver to back his car up, point it in the right direction, and start off again. But that was long enough to awaken me, slow me down, and help me to remember: I am wholly here, now, and the glad receiver of holy life.

Care to stop a read a book at our neighborhood corner library today?

Love,

Sylvia