December 6, 2010
Whenever it is December in Canada – a lovely season of holidays, presents, and unexpected visits – I remember one episode that took place nine years ago around this time. I was riding in a car down our street. I was wearing warm boots, jeans, a sweater, and a winter jacket. The sun was setting, and large flakes of snow were descending from the sky. It seemed like in one moment, everything turned white. From the window, I saw two people walking down the street. The first one was a tall and thin man, draped in a white cloth. He also had a white turban, and on his feet, there were some flip-flops and beads. The second person was a woman; she was a little shorter than the man, but still taller than average. Her outfit was also made out of thin white fabric, which was wrapped around her body. She had an elaborate hairstyle, and she wore shoes with little bells. Both of those people had the kind of perfect posture than you only see in ballet. (The kind that you also will never see on anybody who spends a lot of time in front of the computer.) Their heads were raised high, and they moved with so much grace that it seemed like it was nothing for them to walk around a snowy street in shoes I’d only wear in the summer. It’s as if the snow was actually sand. To me, the people really looked like they emerged out of the spirit world.
This image made such an impression on me, leaving me entranced for a while. I still like to imagine the sound of bells ringing down a snow-white street.