Everyone loves to talk about how beautiful snow is. How it makes everything quiet. How it turns the world clean, and soft, and peaceful.
Those people are not holding a shovel.
Those people are looking out a window.
Last week, snow didn’t fall so much as it just… stayed. It hung around. It checked the forecast and decided this was home now. One day, I shovelled three separate times. Not for fun. Not for exercise. Just to keep up.
The first shovel is always optimistic. You go out thinking, I’ll just clear this quick. You move at a decent pace. You even straighten your back like someone who believes in themselves. The driveway looks good. You feel accomplished. You go inside.
But then, as you settle in, you look out the window.
The second shovel is quieter. Less ceremony. You don’t stretch. You already know how this ends. The snow is heavier now, as if it were waiting for you to relax. Your gloves get wet almost immediately, which feels personal.
By the third time, there’s no romance left at all. No Beauty. No calm. Just a tired person moving snow from one place to another, where it will still be snow. Your gloves are wet. Your coat has failed you. The shovel and you are no longer on speaking terms.
People like to say, “At least it’s pretty.”
Pretty?
Pretty doesn’t require Advil later on and makes you question your life choices before breakfast! Who are you trying to fool?
There’s a distinct sound snow makes when the shovel hits the concrete. A sharp scrape that feels like it’s aimed directly at your soul. There’s also that fateful moment when you lift a load that you absolutely should not have. In the aftermath, your body files a formal complaint that you will definitely regret later on.
Neighbours wave. Not cheerfully. Just enough to say, I see you, and acknowledge the shared suffering. Somewhere, somehow, someone is calling this weather “cozy.” THAT person lunatic is indoors.
You finish again. You stand there breathing harder than you’d like. You admire the clean driveway for a few seconds longer this time, because you earned it three times over. You are a warrior. A champion. Nay – a GOD! (Note: I cannot/will not be held responsible for sacrilege or heresy in this moment)
Then it starts snowing again.
*sigh*
I probably deserved that.
But…
That’s the false romance of snow. It’s only magical when you never have to touch it. When it stays on trees, rooftops, and pictures online. The moment it hands you a shovel, the illusion collapses.
Snow is beautiful.
Shovelling is not.
The CJBuzz 