Walking in a Winter Wonderland

                  Last night little Ally unwisely chose to walk home from school in the snow.  She received a note to wait for me to come pick her up after choir practice, but for some reason, she chose to ignore the directive from her mother.  She first walked to the church, and then she tried to make her own way home.  By the time she staggered home through the freezing storm an hour later without hat or boots or her coat zipped up (lucky she had gloves), she was soaked.  And she knew she was in trouble.  Needless to say, she thawed out, received a stern talking to, and shivered until bedtime.

                  It reminded me of a time when I was in high school where I was hanging with my friend Jon and Steve out at The Coop one wintry Friday night.  For those who don’t know, The Coop was literally a large chicken coop converted into an apartment on the back of Jon’s parents’ property.  A bunch of us pitched in labor one summer to clean and refinish the insides.  (Some of that process could possibly make its way into another of these narratives.)  It’s where we would hold massive parties, crash after long adventures, eat Rally burgers, listen to tunes, discuss the mysteries of the universe—such as girls or road trips, play poker, and do other guys things.

                  Back on track now, the three of us were chillin’ at the coop on a snowy night.  I believe we had finished working late and decided to crash.  The snow had been coming down heavily during the day, but it had slowed to a light flurry.  We were bored and a little stir crazy, so we decided to go for a walk.

                  Shortly after eleven p.m. we crossed the highway and tramped onto the white blanket that lay across the farmers’ fields.  For a short time we joked, wrote our names in the snow, and goofed off, but then the snow picked up and a stiff breeze started blowing the whiteness sideways into our faces, silencing our raucousness.  We trudged on.

The soft fluff that drifted through the air muffled the noise of the scarce cars that slid by and enveloped the night in a reverent silence.  We trudged through the fields, over small hills, and down frozen gullies.  After a while the wind picked up and blew out the clouds, leaving the sky black and star-pocked.  From the top of a small rise we finally paused, a checkerboard of frozen fields before us, the lights of the city behind us.  As quickly as the wind had picked up, it disappeared.  Time held its icy breath and left us to inhale Winter’s richness and ponder its cruel potency.  God tapped us on the shoulder.

                  “Cool,” one of us muttered, expelling visible breath.

                  I don’t think another word was spoken.  Usually we would be joking, singing, or generally making noise, but tonight it wasn’t necessary.  Understanding hung in the air like our visible breath.  Later we hiked back into town by way of an ice-covered rutty farm road and were picked up by Jon’s dad at the Quik Trip convenience store where we had stopped for hot chocolate and MSG-laden microwaveable grub.  I believe it might have been around two a.m. by this time.  We knew we were in deep (frozen) doggie-doo.  The parental figures were all furious and demanded that we explain ourselves.

                  We couldn’t.  Our wanderlust and its bonding powers overwhelmed us and imprinted an indelible experience that left the three of us without words.

For us, we shared something that didn’t need explaining.

Even though it was wrong, Ally, I understand.