So we actually eat it.
I stand by a tree, lean in, and lick like I’m eating from a kind hand. My children shovel snow into their mouths like it’s vanilla ice cream.
I imagine coconut or maybe white chocolate flakes.
For a moment, I think about pollution, toxic things, and all the germs I’m taking in with every lick. I’ve read the websites that tell me I’m eating more bacteria with every taste of snow than if I were actually eating dirt in the yard. This was last year, when the girls wanted to flavor their snow with syrup to pretend they were pioneer girls like Mary and Laura Ingalls. I let them, even though I read that you should limit your snow consumption to one cup every 5 years. These websites also claim that I am eating spores from outer space every time I eat a snowflake.
Just now, I think I ate 2 cups of snow. I’m doomed!
I couldn’t help it. The sky made a beautiful gesture–an appetizer offered from the trees’ arms, like servers’ platters at a fancy party–and I bent down and received what nature made. I am trusting my stomach acid to neutralize what I’ve just done to myself.
Living with flair means I eat a little snow. Maybe just one lick. I just had to.