I spent much of last Monday gazing at the snow as it gingerly floated to the ground. Growing up in the Bay Area, I never had much experience with snow—at least not until I moved to Paris a few years ago. France had experienced one of its coldest winters and while it wasn't too common for snow to show up in this part of the country, it seemed to blanket the countryside for months. Not being particularly prepared for snow weather, I ended up slipping and sliding all over the place in my tennies. So, now that it was snowing here (and I still didn't own any snow shoes) I wondered how I would take my daily walk.

As Mother Nature fluctuated from sprinkling the Earth with its white flakes to plummeting a combination of hail and snow balls mixed in with some pretty intense winds, I decided it was probably best to stay inside and enjoy the view from the warmth of the apartment where I am staying. Needless to say, I am certain it was the right call.

What occured to me was that even though I was a bit upset I couldn't go outside, I rather enjoyed watching the weather. Only a few days earlier it was 80 degrees and here it was making a radical shift in mood in a mere forty-eight hours. It was astounding to me. As I gazed out the window, I recalled from the movie White Christmas, that I have seen only about a dozen times, where Bing Crosby and the gang harmonize together their song about snow. I regurgitated their words in my mind as the snow embraced the ground beneath it.

The following day, it snowed for awhile, but then the sun peaked out from behind the clouds. The pathways were cleared and I was determined to take my walk. On this day, I dedicated my perceptions to the snow. Both the red rocks and the surrounding hills carried their snow blankets proudly and I was impressed by the grandeur of it all. It was the day before the spring equinox and the cherry blossoms had already bloomed their delicate pink flowers, and the juxtaposition of spring's blossoms against winter's snow appealed to my sense of transition.

I pulled off my glove for a bit and felt what it was like in my hand. It was curious because the snow in Paris had been hard and course. It could have practically cut you if you weren't careful, but here it was soft and luxurious. If it weren't so cold, it might have been as sublime as bubbles in a bath.

I managed to go off path (what else is new) for a bit simply to have the experience of walking in the snow. With only tennis shoes on I walked carefully and thankfully the snow responded by keeping my feet exactly where I wanted them to be. Even under my feet the snow felt softer than in France and I thought perhaps it was due to the lateness in winter and the fact that the sun was beating upon it.

In France, I always loved the sound that rain made as it hit the old roofs and cobblestone roads. While I am not able to find that sound here, what I found instead is the sound of the melting snow falling off the roofs tapping onto the ground. The sound pulled me to look in the direction of each rooftop and I noticed as gravity performed its magic by forcing the water downward, the light was captured in each drop from the sun which gave the illusion of floating diamonds everywhere I looked. As each drop glistened with its own unique sparkle, I was grateful for the attention I was giving it.

I allowed my sense of taste to get in on the action too as I pulled off some snow that was nestled on a tree and placed it in my mouth. It certainly tasted better and much more refreshing than what we pull out of our freezers at home.

During my walk and even afterwards, people expressed to me that they couldn't believe the "bad" weather we were having. That is when I found this quote by John Ruskin, “Sunshine is delicious, rain is refreshing, wind braces us up, snow is exhilarating; there is really no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather.” And it's true. All weather is simply different shades in the rainbow of weather...and it is all good.

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Thank you and Blessings!

Author's Bio: 

Lisa Tunney is a metaphysician with an accessible approach. She has been described as “Sex and the City meets the Dalai Lama”. She holds a Bachelor’s Degree from U.C. Berkeley and a Master’s Degree in Metaphysics from the American Institute of Holistic Theology. Additionally, she is a Reiki Master, Shamanic Practitioner, Intuition Development Teacher, Philosopher and author of the upcoming inspirational books, Blossoming Butterfly and The Seed Planter. Through the various avenues of teaching she pursues, she integrates laughter, intuition, storytelling, and most importantly, it is her goal to help guide others to listen to their own Inner Wisdom.