Wintry Elements
One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow.
And outside, where death plays to win, there is Wonderland. Illness will usher someone though their final day with tiny flakes on their skin. Disease will stomp through the compiling inches to set shadows over the unsuspecting. Even knowing this, the smile will not abandon her face. Because her eyes will gaze on no malady today, harkening only to the vision of blanketed white. There lies in raw wintry elements a sound that is life.
In the rush to draw breath beyond these walls, to hear the crunch of boots in drifts, Natalie registers only the last of Miles' varied questions and her answer is as swift as the dropping temperature.
"Because it's snowing," she tells him as the thick file slides into her tote bag, a reminder that work is the tag-along sister of play.
Frank is heard chuckling in agreement as three files find shelter in his backpack. The storm fails to alter his departure plans, though the newly arrived instrument in nature's symphony, the tinny percussion of pelting sleet, elicits an involuntary shiver. Miles remains steadfast at the window, unable to turn away from the sight he prays will vanish. Panic stretches across boyish features that were made for more cheerful expressions. Natalie studies his reflection in the glass as melting droplets outside mark his skin, creating the illusion of a man weeping for an uncontrollable environment.
"I can't drive in this." The glass turns breath to frost, crafting a foggy circle into which the child in Natalie itches to carve a smiley face. The effect of his sigh fades to reveal the uninterrupted postcard view, transforming her displeasure at time wasted into expectation of time approaching.
"You'll be fine," she assures even as he begins audibly calculating the odds of his Honda pitching into a ditch or sailing off an overpass. His talk of doom troubles her, for it is that sentiment she seeks to leave behind tonight.
Rather than console an impressionable youth, Frank opts for torment. "I told you those sport tires suck. Had to go all fast and furious, didn't you?" Reaching into his wallet, he makes a show of pulling out a card. "You better take my AAA card, Knievel."
The boy's sulk, an unfortunate replacement for trepidation, has Natalie considering whether adding to the tease would only serve to ensure his prediction. He's watching the cold tears of Heaven descend on his custom paintjob with such lament that the offer of a lift blooms on her lips. And dies there. Because she sees the culmination of her evening plans just outside the conference room door and knows adding Miles to her itinerary will only delay her salvation. And her bag is heavy on her shoulder, so the file is deported back to the table.
Miles sees him too and returns his attention to the woman who has forgotten anyone else is present. "So, you're saying this tragedy of weather put him in a good mood?" He is incredulity and she is leaving.
"It reminds him of home," she explains as her hand pushes open the door. Her future sees her and his smile has everything and nothing to do with snow.
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
Poem: The Snow Man by Wallace Stevens