
The Snow-eater
For every third step on the path to our front door, my son stoops until his mouth is level with the fresh-fallen snow, and there he parts his lips until the pink of his tongue meets the white of the first few particulates of ice. He holds his body taut with the thrill of its blank, juicy chill, his mouth watering for the next taste of near-nothing, and he reminds me that perhaps this is what he has been after all along: the sheer white of sensory possibility, the whole world of it, not-yet-definite as it meets the tenderness of the body, which from the first moments in the womb was made to yearn, to moon.
4 replies on “The Snow-eater”
How wonderful life is to experience one of its many glories, snow. This child told me that he very much prefers the cold; when it is hot, your hands get sticky. And the cost for all his joy was small, an unbeknownst moon.
Fun to read as I watch the snow coming down today and remember my own children at that age. Love the line “he holds his body taut with the thrill of its blank, juicy chill..”
Fun to read as I watch the snow coming down today and remember my own children at that age. Loved your adjectives and ending.
I love that I experience this moment as both the mother and the child. Your empathy for his innocent delight makes me feel like both observer and snoweater! I especially love the line that Robin mentioned but also “the next taste of near-nothing.” Thank you for sharing this moment so beautifully.