When I was really small, before the divorce, when it snowed outside my dad would go into the back yard with me to make snow angels. Just to make snow angels. They were my favorite thing about winter-especially the part where we would lay there on the ground for a while, catching snowflakes on our tongues. I would sit there and let my mind drift before moving on to the next plot of untouched snow.
My dad and I once filled the entire back yard with snow angels. I wish he took a picture of it.
Last year just after I moved to Boston, I drove back home to pick up a few things from my dad’s place. He still lives in the house I grew up in and upon my way out, I stopped in the back yard to look at the fresh 5 inch layer of untouched snow. I jumped over the wood planks dividing the driveway from the yard, and plopped down in the fresh powder to make an angel.
A minute later, I hear the back door open and the heavy foot steps of my father. He plopped down next to me, albeit slowly, to make a snow angel.
“I always wanted to know what you thought about when you made these things.” he said to me.
“Nothing at all.” I replied.
“Yeah. It’s the only time where I don’t think about anything. I just look up and get lost in the sky.”
He got quiet for a second.
“I’m happy you still make them. I hope you never stop. Not even when you’re an old lady.”
Coming back from a beer run, I put my bag down in my back yard and made a snow angel. When I looked up at the sky, I thought about my dad for a second, and then I thought about nothing at all.
In those few moments, looking up at the endless gray of clouds, everything was perfect.