It is a Sunday morning, and as I open my blinds to the light into my room, I see heaven. Little angels descend gracefully, spreading a blanket of beauty, purity, and perfection over this tainted world. Large and small, round and irregular, snowflakes drift by my window, giving me a wink and continuing on their way. They fall to the earth and either melt or cling onto solidity. Either way, I smile.
As I put on my slippers and get ready to wash up in the bathroom, I ponder my day. My roommate stirs, then rolls over. He squints his eyes furiously and pulls the covers over his head.
"What the hell are you doing?" he mumbles accusingly, digging deeper into his homemade foxhole. He wonders how I could be so cheerful on such an early Sunday morning. I go to answer him, but he has rolled back over, and so I don't bother him. I grab a powdered donut and wolf it down, then go into the bathroom to clean up. Coming back, I look outside the window to see that there are already six inches on the ground, each flake glistening in the sunlight. I put on layers of shirts, pants, and socks, and open the door.
"I'll be back in a while," I say to my roommate as I slip on my gloves and hat, ready to go outside.
I start to make a snow fort, stacking snowball upon snowball until it is as high as my waist. Personalities start to scurry their way upon me in rapid fashion. First, with the raccoon hat that my uncle gave me for Christmas, I become Davy Crockett defending the Alamo. I drop to my stomach as imaginary bullets whisper by my ears, the cold Texan snow starting to numb my skin. Suddenly, for no reason whatsoever, I jump to my feet and become the master Bruce Lee, proceeding to destroy the snow fort with my massive spinning roundhouses. Halfway finished I pause to catch my breath, and instead my breath catches me. The air being so fresh catches me by surprise, and I nearly stumble and fall. I think of a breath mint, the way the air tastes afterwards, and I laugh. Soon I am finished with the fort and ready for the snowbank. I march over near it like some type of body builder, my arms out to the side, my legs see-sawing back and forth, carrying the excess weight of layered clothing on my body. I look up to the snowbank, say something to the effect of "yeah, all right," and run full speed towards it. I leap over it in a half somersault, and land in some type of odd position where my legs are closer to my head than they should be. Fortunately, it does not hurt. In fact, it is one of the best feelings that I've ever had.
I lay in the snow for a while, and then I get ambitious and jump to my feet. I run over to an area of fresh snow, and form a firmly packed snowball in my hands. I begin to roll it across the yard, and as it increases in magnitude, the smile on my face gets closer and closer to each of my ears. When I am done building my snowman, I stand up and close my eyes. With total assurance I fall back blindly, knowing full well that the plush snow will catch me with its billions of tiny hands. I look up, and notice the sun starting to lick the corners of the bright blue sky. I wave my arms back and forth like a swimmer, stand up, and take a look at the snow angel that I've made. Once again, I smile.
I hear a voice, and recognize it to be my roommates's, who has finally woken. He laughs softly in between bursts of calling me a crazy lunatic. I start to feel the sting of the cold wind, and I suddenly feel a strong urge for hot chocolate. I remember that we have some in the room, and I begin to make my way back. My eyes growing wide in anticipation, I run into the room, strip off all my snow-laden clothes, and plop down on the beanbag. The microwave informs me that the hot chocolate is finished, and I drink it in a matter of seconds, realizing that my tongue will be tingling for the rest of the day. Slowly my nose and the tips of my fingers change from the beet red color caused by the cold to their normal flesh tone.
Right now you are probably thinking, "Is this kid eighteen years old? What kind of college freshman makes snow angels on a blustery winter morning?" I must admit that, even at eighteen, I do make the occasional snow angel, but I do it for a reason. There is something about the snow that is peaceful, and it is one of the only places where I can become completely innocent again and not have to worry about a trouble in the world. Everyone needs a place like this. Without some release, stress becomes an all too familiar occurrence in one's life, and coping in the adult world becomes much too cumbersome. Fortunately, the snow is my release.
Later on that evening, when I was finishing my homework, I came across a math problem that I was having a difficult time solving. So I told myself to stop and relax for a few moments. My mind wandered back to my time in the snow, and suddenly this impossible problem that I couldn't figure out before became very possible. The solution drifted to me as quickly and as gracefully as the snow had fallen that morning, and I smiled.