I'm a sleep-with-the blinds-shut-as-tight-as-possible kind of girl, all year long.
I like my room dark as can be for sleeping and don't try to tell me otherwise. I don't even like the tiniest sliver of light to be coming through any haphazardly shut blind. Not even a sliver.
I've even been known to curse the full moon for being too bright in the middle of the night.
As if the moon has a choice in the matter.
But when it snows, oh when it snows, that turns my world upside-down.
Last week, with the expectation of flurries in the forecast, I found it hard to sleep. I anxiously crawled out of bed on the hour, all night long, to look out the window.
Had it started yet? Would we wake to an alien looking, white landscape?
I had to know.
As the hours pressed on, my excitement grew. By the time the snow was actually falling, it was all I could do not to curl up in a blanket on the couch and stare out the window until I lost myself to some much-needed sleep (those presents weren't going to wrap themselves and all that holiday preparation took energy).
I went to bed without closing my blinds, instead I lay facing the window, watching the snow fall in the light of the street lamp on the cul-de-sac behind us. The neighbor's apple trees, which have not seen a pruning for at least 4 years, were laden, thick, fat and covered with white. Their silhouette gently swaying in the breeze as the white fell from the sky.
The gusts of wind carried the snow, swirling it this way and that under the lone light. The moon was nowhere to be seen.
It was silent.
And so it was, and so it is.
We have been blanketed, insulated, draped in winter's beauty for nearly 10 days and for each of those nights, I've fallen asleep to the sight of the snow falling outside my bedroom window.
My husband reached to turn the wand to close the blinds, as he always does when he has the dubious honor of being the last one under the covers, and I said, "Leave them open tonight," I want to watch the snow.
And it fell and fell and fell some more.