I woke up to the sound of knocking on my door and my landlady calling out my name. Snow is falling now, she said. It was the first snowfall in my life, so I hurried out of bed to look through the window.
Outside was an eerie spectacle. The night sky was milky white, and myriads of white butterflies were descending to the ground en masse. Old houses, bare trees, dead lawns and broken sidewalks strewn with trash were rapidly disappearing under an enormous white blanket. Everything ugly was hidden, and under the pale streetlights lay the purest, most unblemished landscape I'd ever seen.
How I loved to walk under snowfall when the wind was absent and the air soft, white and mute. Even my footsteps were noiseless on the snow that felt as fine as sieved powder. Everything around me was transformed into a pure and flawless wonderland where I could lose myself and submerge in an outlandish beauty.
It was also snow that once sent my car flying off the road over a ditch during a blizzard. The car slammed into an embankment, was wrecked beyond repair, but miraculously I got off without so much as a scratch. I walked home in a daze, snow all around me but I certainly saw no wonderland anywhere.
I suppose all the things that bring pleasure can also hurt. Like snow, which enchanted me then sent me into mortal danger. Like fire, which gives comforting warmth but can also burn to death. Like water, which quenches thirst but can also drown. Or love, which can make life paradise or hell.
This winter where I live there is no snow, and I miss it. Not that I don't remember its detrimental side. I just think that while its charming beauty is a sure thing, its danger is just a possibility which may not happen at all, and I'm willing to take that chance.