I remember snow — one snow that was very vivid. Every snow was vivid because we had so few. It began to fall after sunset, or later, around my bedtime. I couldn’t go outside yet, but I pined for a good snow and feared it would all be gone before morning. So I went to bed feeling anxious and I awoke in the middle of the night still anxious. I didn’t want to wake my sister, so I crept across the room on all fours and looked out of the window. I could see the whiteness of the snow in the darkness. It was perfect and pure, as yet untrampled. To me it was the most beautiful sight on earth. I wanted to make everyone wake up and enjoy it with me. I wanted to go outside and lie down in its cold perfect smoothness. The snow was like a gift from God just for me. Then I saw one of our dogs, a black spot on the snow, and he looked up at me and in that moment I felt that he had a soul, that he saw the snow as I did, that the snow was a gift to him, too.
I remember playing outside. I remember exploring in the woods. The two dogs and I ran around like we were in the book Where the Red Fern Grows. I miss exploring. I would take with me whatever seemed essential in life to me at that time–which usually included a book, some paper, and a pen. Or sometimes I would go with nothing. We would walk until we couldn’t see the house anymore and I would pretend to be someone or somewhere else. I remember giant oak trees and chunky bark you could tear off and find moist insides and bugs and more. I remember pecan trees and he feeling of walking on fallen rotting bumpy pecans. I remember pretending to be an Indian and trying to walk so quietly that no one would hear me coming. I remember finding stumps or big logs and using them as tables or chairs or pulpits or stages. I remember digging in the mud to build forts or hid treasures so well that I forgot how to find them again. I remember picking weed-flowers and wearing them in my hair. I remember bug bites and poison ivy and bloody knees and scratched elbows, but those things never stopped me from climbing trees.
I remember sitting at the edge of a creek and dipping my feet in. I remember trying to fish with a homemade pole and some string. I remember how clear the water was and how it bubbled and sang. It was cold, too. I remember whistling for my dogs and they would come running up wet and soggy with tongues hanging out and tails wagging and would lick my face until I had to push them away to stand up again. I remember boulders and little ravines and climbing through them and pretending I was in the mountains. I remember finding a grove of trees that filtered the sunlight through so that it was that perfect, beautiful, soft green shade that looked like heaven. I remember praying and singing and feeling God there….
