Vanquishing Winter

I had forgotten how powerful it feels to smash a snowbank

Image by the author, on my deck

From the ages of 6 to twenty-two, I lived in one house with my parents and siblings. It was on a cul-de-sac in a middle-class suburban town. It was truly an idyllic childhood.

Our house was on the shady side of the circle, so well after our neighbors were seeing their lawns, our yard was covered in snow. While I loved the snowy days of December and January, I was always more than ready to welcome spring.

I remember being outside after school on cold March afternoons. The snow mounds stood on either side of the driveway, but there would be a stream of icy water running downhill, slowly eroding the giant piles of dirty ice. I have a very clear memory of standing at the end of the driveway with a heavy shovel in hand. I chopped at the mounds of snow, slicing off large chunks and sending them down the side of the street with the flowing water. I felt empowered, strong, and defiant.

I remember daydreaming as I chopped, seeing myself as a heroine in a story. I remember the cold, fresh smell of melting snow and emerging soil. I remember the blue light of the fading day. I remember how much I loved the warm yellow glow of the lights inside my house.

I remember.