Ten Below

Night has fallen, and the store you work in has closed for the night. After cleaning up for the evening: sweeping, mopping, and restocking the shelves, you bundle up in your thick winter coat, scarf, beanie, and snow boots. You shoulder your backpack before turning off the lights and open the glass doors. The cold is like a wall on this winter night as you step outside, and you find yourself bouncing slightly on your feet to stay warm as you wait patiently for your friend to lock the doors. The cold air stings your face, and your breath puffs out of your mouth like a white cloud as you pull your beanie down to cover your ears, then turn and wave at your friend with a smile before you set off for home. The world is already asleep, dreaming peacefully of warmer days, of sunlight kissing the bountiful leaves of trees and blades of dark green grass. The only sounds that pierce the sleepy silence tonight are the rev of the engine as her car starts and the crunch of snow underfoot as you walk across the parking lot and onto the sidewalk.

She had asked you if you would like a ride, and you had declined, preferring to walk home so you would have time to push away the busy day and flustered customers you had dealt with during your shift. The cold air stings your nose and lungs as you breathe deeply, then exhale a cloud of mist that crystallizes instantly in the cold air. A hush hangs about you as you walk, passing under streetlamps where small flecks of snow dance gracefully in the lamp's soft blue glow. There is no other traffic tonight, and as you walk further, the snow banks rise higher on either side of you, almost completely obstructing you from view of the road that lies but three feet away.

Even the wind is silent tonight, holding its breath in reverence of this beautiful, peaceful evening. The snow twinkles like diamonds in the dim moonlight, unmarred by footprints or wind as you travel further along. You pause at a four-way stop, the red traffic light blinking slowly as if it too were almost asleep. While you've stopped, you gaze across the street at a church, the porch light on to welcome any weary traveler, and let your gaze sweep up the beautiful red brick building, up to the top of the church steeple, peering through tree limbs that are blanketed in snow and ice. The light at the top of the bell tower glows warm and yellow, reminding you of the summer sun that would one day return.

You smile to yourself, shivering in the cold as you stuff your hands into your coat pockets as you look up and down the road before quickly crossing and resuming your journey. You pass by yellow brick apartments, some of whom still have lit candles in the windows from Christmas, before turning your attention to the park on your other side. It is blanketed in a thick layer of snow, deeper than anywhere else, since the snow plows and local residents had left it alone, allowing the grass to continue sleeping peacefully until the snow melt in the spring when it would awaken and flourish, deep emerald greens that would shine beautifully through the seasons until winter returned. The only thing you can see in the park, aside from the tall trees that mark the park's boundaries, is the statue that rests in the very center, a monument to times long past.

Even the cannon, a famous landmark for those who are from the area, lies buried in snow. The only sign of its existence is a slight mound of snow that rises a few inches higher than the snow around it. Beyond the park, partially hidden by the snow, stands the library. In front of the building, on either side of the walkway that leads to the large doors, its twin lanterns, fashioned after the old colonial style, gleam with a soft yellow light, flickering just often enough to give the illusion of candlelight. For a moment, the scene appears to your eyes as a painting, and you smile at the beauty before walking still further, to a small bridge.

You stop there, leaning over the green post railing to gaze at the ice below. Small dark grey rocks cast black shadows against the white snow here, and you find yourself idly wondering if there's any fish left in the stream or if they all managed to find their way back to the great lake that lies a few miles away. On either side of the steep banks of the stream stand trees, silent sentinels protecting the icy stream below. You glance up into the interwoven dark branches, glimpsing the moon just beyond, full and bright on this dark night. The trees stand, peaceful in the moonlight, their branches decked in icicles from the slight melt earlier in the day. The light of a street lamp, set back from the road, causes them to appear as crystals, the light breaking around them, making them appear to cast an otherworldly shimmer in the air around them.

A chill sends shivers dancing down your spine, and you shrug off the cold. Reluctantly, you move on, gazing around you at the glittering blanket of purest white that has fallen to cover the whole of the village in its soft embrace. You cross three more streets, looking down them as far as you can, seeing lights in some windows that cast a warm yellow glow to the snow just outside them. Snow drifts, caused by icy winds earlier in the day, twinkle in the moonlight and cast cool blue shadows where the wind drew designs in them with its gentle caresses.

Awe floods you as you stop and gaze around at the wonders of this cold snowy night, and you realize, somewhere in your soul, that there may be more nights like this one to come, but none will ever be the same. They would still be beautiful, in their own way, but they would never compare to the beauty of this clear January night. Reverently, you look around you one last time before you set off again, and finally turn into your driveway and approach the front door. Just ahead, you look into the large field that serves as the yard for your apartment building and see deer -- twelve or thirteen of them -- pawing at the knee-deep snow to get at the grass beneath. Their breath puffs white clouds in the darkness, illuminated by the moon that shines down on this world, casting its soft glow indiscriminately, a perfect light for this nighttime stage. One of the deer raises its head, alert, ears turned forward as it watches you. You pause, hoping to not scare them off. It flicks its tail a few times before it returns to pawing at the ground.

Another raises its head and watches the first for a moment, then bounds a few feet as if dancing to some unheard song. Another follows suit, and before long, the two are bounding around in the cold night air, playing as they toss their heads and bounce through the deep snow that around them glistens and shines, pure white tinted the slightest shade of blue in the darkness. Realizing the deer have forgotten you, you start forward again, keeping your eyes on them as you reach your front door. You watch them for a while, joy filling you as they dance and play happily in the moonlight, undaunted by your presence or the snow that covers the grass. Finally, they stop, and the herd begins to move on. You watch them go, their tails swishing occasionally, your eyes unmoving as one by one they disappear into the quiet forest, the small indentations in the snow the only sign that they had been there at all. With a smile, you turn, unlock your door, open it, and step into the warmth that waits for you inside.