Last night, Simba needed his nightly walk – he is having a new wet food for dinner – all natural, much healthier – but I am afraid his poor bowels will let loose on my floor so I am being very diligent about taking him out right before bed.
When we walked out the door it was snowing. That beautiful free-falling wet snow that makes you stop to take a breath.
I don’t like snow, but even I had to stop for a moment and squint my eyes up to the sky as the beautiful flakes fell around me and Simba almost teasing us with its softness. I went back in and grabbed a toque and we left for our walk.
Simba wanted to sniff every boulevard covered in snow; he would stop periodically to shake the dampness off him and then run, looking as if he was chasing the snow before it hit the ground. It was adorable to watch and at one point, while he was sniffing the ground like he had found a steak waiting for him, I looked up in the streetlights and thought of my dad. I actually smiled and laughed as I pictured him saying
YUCK, white stuff!
My dad hated snow as much as I did. Watching its beauty in the street light, seeing my dog having so much fun on the soaking wet ground I realized I may not hate the snow as much as I thought. It was the first time in four months that I have smiled a genuine smile in regards to my father. Where I missed him terribly but was able to smile at his memory. Maybe I’ve had it wrong all these years – maybe the first major snow fall is magical. Maybe it has powers to surprise.
After our walk, I dried Simba off, changed into pajamas and snuggled under the covers with peaceful thoughts and I slept. Of course I woke up to a snow-covered car and I was pretty sure I hated snow again, but at least for a moment I had peace. I had happiness. I am grateful for a few moments where Simba needed me to go out and allowed me the chance to just be…