A perfect winter moment

Ask anyone from a northern country about their travel dreams and you will invariably hear phrases such as golden sunshine, white sand beaches, luxuriant jungles and festive street scenes. After writing about the phenomenon of Soul Culture on Travel+Escape, I heard from lots of people, mostly from Canada, the USA or northern Europe. They all told me about their soul cultures: Spain, Kenya, Thailand, India, New Mexico. All warm and sunny places.

Northerners tend to dream of warm and temperate climates, and I am no exception. Every year, I try to escape to South Asia for a month or two, to take a bite out of winter. I admit, I don’t like to be cold, and I never have.

I have a stash of painful childhood memories: of frozen feet while watching Santa Claus parades; of sitting in chilly huts trying to stay warm while other members of my winter-loving family were skiing, ice fishing or skating; of enduring cold, noisy snowmobile rides across expansive, arid lakes.

Our winter travel, growing up, was to St. Petersburgh. But not to the glorious frozen cultural capital of Russia, no. We went to Florida. We went to visit my snowbird grandparents who, like many Canadians, flew south for the winter.

Canadians may make an effort to have fun in the snow, but most of us would jump at any chance to spend at least a part of winter on a sun-soaked beach.

And yet…. I have a distinct memory of playing in freshly fallen snow; snow that had landed softly, each flake glittering in the glow of Christmas lights on a clear, crisp, dark night. My dad was rigging up the last of the spotlights and I was watching the snow falling softly and silently. It lay gently on the evergreen bushes in my dad’s rock garden, creating mysterious and inviting caverns.

I looked up and my dad pointed out the constellation Orion right above us, his massive shape spanning the heavens, held up by greatness and confidence. Each star in the shape of the hunter beamed eternal strength and the primal wisdom of the cosmos. I could see his flexed bow and his firmly planted stance, his readiness, his purpose. He was so clear that night, like I’ve never seen him since, and he filled the night sky with meaning.

As I looked up I also saw the sparkling snow falling from a black void, swirling about my upturned face, and it was beautiful. Perfect crystals falling from the heavens, muffling earthly sounds, creating a silence that allowed a much more profound experience of hearing and sight. In that moment time stood still and I felt a sense of the eternal. Only on a cold winter night can you see with such clarity.

I often think of that magical night, long gone. We moved away from that house a couple of years later, my parents divorced and my dad died of cancer. A deep impression from that night remains of my dad’s enthusiasm for winter, for introducing me to Orion, who hovers over me still in the night sky, and for giving me a perfect winter memory.

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