Snow Meditation, by Wendy Lane

Snow. Deep, white, reflective, sparkling. Boots push through the strange crystal density that is both heavy and light. Joy, the sheer joy of running. Feel the warmth overhead, a cool breeze on rosy cheeks, smell the fresh crisp air. Lick dry lips, and watch the breath create a vapor cloud bubble.

Bend down, grab a pile of fluffy snow and throw it above your head. Then reach arms toward the sky to embrace flakes pouring down from above. Smiling, laughing, whooping.

Falling backwards, sinking, feel a blanket of snow envelope you. Wave arms up and down, and legs in and out to make a snow angel. Then, lie quietly, listening to the silence. In the sanctuary of layered snow, hear the steady beat of your heart. Just listen. Close your eyes. Relax, trust, you are safe, you are well, you are surrounded by all that matters. There is only this, no before, no after.

But wait, it comes back to me. I made these same movements as a child. With all that has happened between, I am still safe and well and surrounded by all that matters.

Wendy Lane is an emerging writer and established visual artist, enchanted by synchronistic events in her life. She retired from a twenty-five-year career in human resources in Minnesota, where she witnessed meaningful coincidences, but confidentiality prevented her from sharing them. She is writing her memoir as a series of personal essays.


Wendy lives with her spouse Judith and their scotty, Gus. Wendy bonded at an early age with animals, especially horses and dogs, with whom she felt a kinship for their way of communicating and being in the world.