Snowflakes Falling
Snowflakes, snowflakes, falling, falling….
It whispers in my ear, a ghost of Christmas past, harkening back to a time when anything but a white Christmas was unimaginable; when Christmas meant the family was gathered around the piano for caroling; when paper snowflakes, tinged orange by the electric candles on the sill below, were taped to the windows and hung by fishing line from the ceiling.
When, outside, the darkness swallowed the barn, the trees, the driveway. Only the halo of illumination from the porch light displayed the wind-tousled snow making its way to the ground.
Everything is white…
When the woodstove radiated heat to the loft above as condensation gathered on the windowpanes and coats hung from the crisscrossed log ends of the rustic cabin, the logs functioning as shelves and storage and hooks.
Snowflakes, snowflakes, falling, falling…
I listened from the vibrant blue couch as the lyrics painted visions of snow angels and sledding and snowmen. Then I moved to the stone hearth, fidgeting with the small broom that awaited ashes to sweep, my ears absorbing the waves of sound, storing them forever in the deep recesses of my memory.
I’ll go play outside.
The first verse ended in decrescendo, the voices of the family choir softening with the resolution.
Snowflakes are such fun for me,
I love to slide and skate and ski…
My mother’s slim fingers moved across the piano keys, her operatic voice leading with the melody of the short bridge before repeating the first verse.
Snowflakes, snowflakes, falling, falling,
Everything is white...
The tenor and alto parts countered the melody, moving together in harmony while the other parts sustained their notes.
Snowflakes, snowflakes, falling, falling,
I’ll go play outside.
My grandfather’s booming bass, my aunt’s throaty alto, my father’s clear tenor, my uncle’s round baritone, my mother’s vibrating soprano…I can hear them as clearly in my mind now as I did then.
With the whispers of the song my mother wrote all those years ago come other memories: memories of our hushed Christmas Eve service, the chapel echoing with squealing babies and coughing congregants; memories of shadowy stained glass, hard pews, and itchy holiday tights; of wafers and wine and darkness and Silent Night; of stepping out into the muffled quiet of the snow-covered village dotted with glowing lights, the frigid air full of magic and anticipation.
The memories fill me with longing for days gone by, for the presence of family no longer with us, for familiar voices lifting in song, for the sounds of Christmas past; for snowflakes, snowflakes, falling, falling, when every Christmas was white.
Snowflakes, snowflakes,
Falling, falling,
Everything is white.
Snowflakes, snowflakes,
Falling, falling,
I’ll go play outside.
Snowflakes are such fun for me,
I love to slide, skate, and ski.
Snowflakes, snowflakes,
Falling, falling,
Everything is white.
Snowflakes, snowflakes,
Falling, Falling,
I’ll go play outside.
Lyrics by Margaret Roberts