The only thing white outside on Christmas Eve was the dense fog that had descended to ensure Rudolph remained employed for another night. Under that misty mass was a landscape of brown that felt as holly jolly as a corn cob pipe and a button nose in a puddle. As our Subaru plowed through the haze after departing our annual family gathering, the most spirited Christmas classics rang out in an effort to force some holiday joy into yet another frantic season of giving.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with haste, the halls decked by a bawling Holly, and the tree dressed in more curse words than ornaments. Shopping was as joyous as an unsedated colonoscopy. Carols carried all the jazz of a fruit cake pursuant “Happy Birthday”. Even the vegan, gluten-free, sugar-free, fat-free, dairy-free, allergen-free cookies didn’t taste right. But as visions of sugar plums danced in our heads, the magic of Christmas was preparing a miracle for more than just the residents of 34th street.
I never even looked beneath the tree as my wondering eyes couldn’t believe what appeared overnight. I sprung from my bed and dashed to the lawn to find the most spectacularly wrapped gift of all time and it didn’t involve four wheels and a ridiculously large bow. A marshmallow world more perfect than any hallmark movie ending had arrived as impossibly as a jolly old elf in a sleigh. Every stick, blade, needle, and speck of Wisconsin’s rendition of fifty shades of brown had been miraculously coated in white. I shed a few decades as a childish impatience left this photographer begging to play with his new toy. Whether it was luck or annoying persistence I was granted permission and made quite the clatter as I raced to get dressed.
Possessed by the kid on Christmas morning energy I made a mad dash to our nearby woodland and marveled the scene in more disbelief than if I’d stumbled upon it at the back of a wardrobe. The entire park was dripping in white crystals glistening in the early morning sun. A blue sky rained down, providing a stark contrast to the angelic brightness of the feathered forest. Joy emanated from the beaming frost colliding with an intense awe radiating from below as even the Earth seemed stunned at this miracle that would put any magic top hat to shame.
I wandered the woods mesmerized by the mosaic of crystals sparkling more cheerfully than a kaleidoscope of twinkle lights. A peaceful silence hung in the air as if the trees were holding their breath to preserve the delicate display and yet jubilation echoed like a chorus of Fah Who Doraze ringing out from a Whoville on every flake. With each precious second melting away, the sun climbed higher until its rays became potent enough to coerce a few twigs into releasing their decor and, under that clear blue sky, it began to snow.
Time itself fought to preserve the moment as the clusters of fluff drifted to the ground in a soothing display of grace. Despite the introduced motion, stillness clung to the scene like an anticipatory Christmas tree in the night. For all the impossibility that unfolded, there appeared to be an endless supply of the white stuff clinging to the canopy as the thawing landscape refused to surrender its brilliance. Each puff of glitter created a hypnotizing display that prolonged my transient adventure but with each step the longing for my loved ones snuggled up inside deepened until I turned to head home.
As I watched the smiles erupt with every present unwrapped, I found my gaze returning to the unrelenting satisfaction outside. This was the pinnacle of Christmas spirit, a winter wonderland outside and a room full of happy hearts inside. For the first time that season the chaos dissipated and the moments wafted like those delicate snowflakes in the woods. If the title of Scrooge or Grinch ever befalls me, the ghost of Christmas past now has the coordinates to put the jingle back in my bells. And Santa, if you’re reading this, there’s one thing that will forever sit atop my list, hoarfrost!
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