twelve inches

 

It’s been awhile since we’ve had a foot of snow all at once here—or maybe it hasn’t really been that long, and I only think it has because we only get these heavy snows for approximately one three-hundred-and-sixty-fifth of the year. I’m always on edge when we have these days—not because I don’t like it (I love it!), but because I feel the need to check the temperature every few minutes to make sure it hasn’t risen above 32 degrees.

Because I can so  control these things, you know.

But there is nothing more disappointing than a major snowfall that melts off the same day, leaving nothing but deadness and mud to look at for the rest of the winter. Snow embodies the passage of time to me… I wait for it, then it comes, and then it’s gone until next year. I miss it even when it’s still there, knowing that it won’t be for long.

I guess that’s why I have to take pictures of it. All it takes is a few rays of sunshine, and it vanishes.

Maybe that’s also why I take pictures in general: all it takes is a few minutes, a few days, a flash of years—and life vanishes.

But there is so much to be excited about as I look ahead! I can’t even fathom what amazing things that can happen in just the next few months, the next year… even (yipe!) the next decade. It’s so exciting to think about that I have have an iron grip on Patience to keep from bursting with anticipation!

It’s a fairy land. :)

remember this moment

I woke up this morning to see a world bathed in white. Millions of snowflakes twirled down from an even-gray sky, coming to rest on the tree branches, ground, or birds’ wings on which they fell. I stood at the window and watched, mesmerized, letting my soul bathe in the silent music of their movement.

I never want to forget the snowflake dance. I want to catch that moment in a jar like a firefly. I want to be able to look at the warm light of this memory forever—letting it take me back to this place, at this time. Home on January 17, 2012.

This upcoming year holds a lot of changes in store for me. Lord willing, I’m moving to Florida to go to Bible school, which is one of my hugest, dearest dreams. I can’t wait! I love travel—I love adventure—I love Jesus. I can’t wait to learn more about Him. I’m so excited about the memories waiting to be made there!

But I will be far away from the snowflake dance, so I want to remember this moment.

a three-mountain day

 

Three-mountain days really aren’t a common occurrence around here. Or, at least, not common enough. But I can still sense when they’re going to show up. The air has a certain clarity; the sky is pure azure. The sun shines at a distinct angle and the whole world seems sharper somehow, as if viewed through a lens that was suddenly brought into perfect focus. A lot of the time, days like this come on the heels of a roaring windstorm (or, better yet, a wind and rain storm).

Far left: Mt. St. Helens. Middle: Mt. Adams. Far right: Mt. Rainier.

I’m terribly attached to Mt. Adams. I can see it out my living room window whenever it’s not cloudy, looming majestically over the northwest horizon. It’s never not been there.

It’s going to be hard to leave this place. I was born here—I have lived my life in those crop fields, moving irrigation lines and riding horses and dreaming and growing up. Maybe the fact that today I’m eighteen has something to do with the sudden twinge of melancholy I feel. Suddenly I’m old enough—old enough to vote, old enough to leave home, old enough to become my own person and lead my own life. I’ve spent my life wanting to be old enough, but now that I have achieved this landmark, part of me wishes I could go back… just for a day… and be little Hallie again, dreaming about the future with all the zeal of untainted innocence and optimism.

But the other part of me is excited. I’m excited that the future is more tangible than just a dream now, and while I might not have the advantage of total carefreeness, I can still move ahead with faith in the power of my God to see me through whatever lies ahead.