The view through icy lashes is a familiar one. Nothing has changed really,
from the past few days, and we've all seen snow before. The familiarity
though, is what makes observation fascinating. On a snowy day, one visiting
a new place will forever associate that place with a blanket of snow. At
home though, each day comes with its own subtly unique features.

The view, through icy lashes, is difficult to decipher. The thick snow
falling, the cause of the aforementioned icy lashes, obscures trees,
buildings, and potholes. A runner is a bit more hesitant than usual with her
foot placements.

The view, through those icy lashes, is a quiet one. The recent turn of the
weather, back into winter mode has muffled the bird songs and the runner
makes footprints along the single car-track trail on the street. Plenty of
wood (and coal, we're Friends of Coal in these parts) smoke billows out of
each house's chimney, but it is a silent participant as usual, and there is
not enough wind in this valley to turn the squeaky whirley-gigs of the
furnace caps. 

The view through icy lashes is an isolated one. The shadow of a person moves
past a window in a house, but this is all. The raised red flags indicate
that the mailman is late and even the most enthusiastic dogs fail to rouse
themselves when the runner passes today. Horses huddle in protected corners
of their field and signs of anybody else having past recently are quickly
obliterated by the accumulating snow. The snow started in the middle of the
morning, so school wasn't canceled - and all the kids are still there. The
hills show no marks of sled riding or snow ball throwing.

This view, through the icy lashes of a runner, is full of determination,
pride and hope. After all, if one is out running in these conditions, what
in the future could not be attempted. When spring's ideal weather rolls
around, this runner won't be struggling to shed her winter slothfulness. No,
her stride will be light and full of spring as the sun warms her
well-seasoned tendons and her shoes can grip the solid ground once again.

Yes, the view today, through those icy lashes, is certainly inspiring. Each
tree branch is lined with white, large flakes swirl tightly and a monochrome
picture of the world filters through. It was the view through a closed
window that got the runner out of the house in the first place. "Let's go
run in THAT," she might have mentioned to her running shoes, "I bet its not
even very cold out."

The view through icy lashes is ... getting a bit damp. No, its not
particularly cold out, not sub-0 at least, and the snowflakes have a bit of
Stick to them. They employ that Stick, not just on lashes, but on chins,
hats, shoulders and pant legs - where the heat generated by muscle
contraction kick starts the melting process. Ice over deeper puddles is not
so thick, and thanks to their cloak of snow, not entirely unavoidable.
Several have been broken into and a bit of their water borrowed to help keep
her shoes wet. 

The viewer through icy lashes is grateful. Grateful to have this chance to
go running, running in the snow, and to be able to return home to a
well-warmed wood stove and a cup of tea; Grateful that such places exist
still, where one can be alone with the weather, and safe from an unexpected
turn of events due to a friendly and accessible community of friends and
neighbors; Grateful simply for the physical ability of self-propulsion.

The view through icy lashes is getting a bit too obscured, so our runner
covers her eyes with her warm hands, one at a time, to melt the crust that
has formed there to clear her vision - for at least a few moments.

Katie Wolpert
February 20, 2008