Tag Archives: snow

The Sound of Snow

The snow gently glided to the ground and a cold wind blew, forcing Veronika to shiver a little and hold her hot chocolate a bit closer.

“Cold?” a man asked as he passed by her stoop.

“I guess a little.”

“Then why sit out here in such frigid weather?” He stopped walking and leaned on the gate in front of her house. He reminded her of her grandfather for some reason.

“Simple. I love that sound the snow makes as it hits the ground.

The man smiled as he shivered and buttoned up the top of his coat. “I miss that.”

“What do you mean?”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “My hearing isn’t as good as it used to be. I can’t hear that sound anymore.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No reason to be. It’s part of old age, I guess. I remember the sound, though. That’s what makes me take these little walks late at night in weather like this. Brings me back.”

She smiled and took a sip of her drink, knowing full well it would probably burn her tongue. It did, and knew food would taste the tiniest bit smothered tomorrow.

He shifted his weight again. “Anyway, just glad to see someone enjoying a moment while they can. You never know–“

She smiled as the man turned to go.

“Have a lovely evening,” he said to her.

“You too.”


Help with my book once more…

Today is probably the last voting day for a while on my next book, so enjoy. Basically, if you’re new to this, I am accepting votes on which of the three stories below will be permanently typed onto the photograph and placed into my next book. So comment your vote, or you can always vote for none of the above and make me try again!

1. Who can forget their first big snowstorm?

2. Snowball fights, snow angels, building snowmen, sledding and a nice hot chocolate with mom.

3. A lot of snow for Virginia, but a dusting in Wisconsin.

Footprints in the Snow

“I’m coming to Canada on a school trip. I’ll be staying right near you. I checked.”

“What?” she asked, a surprised look on her face that he could see via Skype all the way from Philadelphia.

“My professor is organizing a trip for next month for our geology club. He has some crazy notion that there’s a group of kimberlites that might have formed diamonds in them so he wants to abuse our club to become rich.”

She shifted in her seat and he could see she was uncomfortable. Either that or nervous, he couldn’t tell.

“Aren’t you excited? We’ve been online friends for two years now. Here’s our chance to finally meet.”

She thought back to that conversation as she sat in one of her favorite spots a month later. She’d come across the old cabin doing a nature shoot for her Digital Photography course and noticed the dilapidated hunting cabin that was falling apart from disuse. It was cold out and the recent snow made it stand out in the woods; she doubted anyone had set foot in the building in decades. From inside she could see enough of the snow through the giant cracks that had formed between the logs, and while a draft did float through the building the aged walls still kept some of the cold out.

Today was much like that first day she found the building. A fresh snow accompanied a cold day, and she was so nervous about meeting him that she didn’t even think to bring a coat. In her hands she held the best gift she’d ever received from a boy. Last Christmas he bought her the small porcelain carousel, inspired by a trip she’d taken over the previous summer photographing vintage carousels across the country. They reminded her of her father before he passed, and somehow the photographs all seemed to capture that, which she always thought helped her win the contest that helped her attain her first gallery show in the city.

She was to meet him in one hour in a café near campus, and even though they had Skyped for hours every week, he still insisted she bring the small toy so he would recognize her. She had romantic notions which were leading her to such nerves that she needed to collect herself in the cabin, the place she often found herself in moments of doubt, nervousness or deep thought. This one was all three.

She walked to the window, the most comfortable place to sit, and brushed the ledge off with her hands so she wouldn’t get her favorite flower print leggings dirty, just in case. She had no idea where their meeting, or date, was it a date? would lead. She’d fallen for him over the past two years of constant texts, calls, IMs, and Skype dates but never had the desire or nerve to tell him. Why bother? He’d never been a real person she could touch before. All the boys she shunned, all the dates she subconsciously sabotaged were because of him. She hadn’t even kissed anyone in over a year, which was right around the time she realized her feelings. Even though she knew she would never meet him.

But now he was coming.

She turned the little carousel over in her hands, listening to the subtle jingle of the parts inside that would play music if she wound it. They sounded so far away, but she knew she could just twist the knob and they would echo through the cabin at a high decibel.

She looked at her watch. Forty-five minutes until he would be sitting in her favorite coffee shop, the one she’d talked about often and even Skyped with him in so he could see it. She wanted to show him everything she loved, and there was only one place he hadn’t heard of, and this was it.

Maybe she would bring him, show him the hideaway she visited for the big decisions. But then he might notice the fresh footprints and put the clues together, somehow realizing that she loved him. He might say “Were you here today?” and she couldn’t lie to him. She would have to admit it. And he would look into her eyes and ask “What was the big decision you had to make?” and she would blush and smile and he would take her in his arms and she would feel him for the first time after years of wishing and hoping and their lips would meet for the first time in her favorite spot and she would share it with him and maybe, just maybe, he would fall in love with her in that moment.

She would bring him here. They would get tea in little to go containers, and she would show him to her favorite place and hope he noticed her footprints in the snow.

Photographs by Danielle Suzanne Photography. Check out her website or her Flickr.

His Reading Spot

He sat in the bright orange room and took in, rested in the moon chair where he liked to read and took a sip of his hot, unsweetened Earl Grey tea with a splash of milk. The glow of the sun warmed him on the cold day that start with snow and ended in sun. The wind blew flakes against the nearby window, which mesmerized him for a moment before he picked up his copy The Living Sea by Captain Jacques Cousteau from the nearby red Ikea table and settled in for a day of reading and happiness.

A Warm Vacation

Click the image for my Etsy store.

A Freak Storm

A Freak Storm was made from old films I bought at a yard sale, a G5 Macintosh and my imagination.

Snow Days (A Story of Fiction)

Found photograph from a yard sale.

We were out so long that our socks were soaked in the cold, icy water that had once been snow.  It snuck into our boots through tiny holes in our armor, somehow penetrating the elastic of our waterproof pants, our solar gloves that warmed our hands the longer we were out there, our fleece inner linings, even my polarized sunglasses seemed to be wet straight through.  I grabbed my coveted sled, the IceBreaker 3000 and told Madison it was time to go home.  She agreed.

As we walked home, lightweight titanium sleds folded up and placed on our backs, and the sun set, the world still glowed a whitish-blue and lights from houses and porch lights stood out in a yellowish tint, unless of course they were energy-savers, pronounced by a bluish-white.  As we approached home we could see our Mommom sitting in the bay window in her favorite chair, drinking tea.

We walked in the front door and began unloading our clothing, and after a quick shedding of layers we finally entered the living room where she sat.

“Have fun, kids?”

“Uh huh,” we answered in unison.

“Come on, I have some hot chocolate for you.”

“Is it low fat?” my little sister asked.

“Of course.”

“I like mine with soy milk,” I said.

“Of course,” she responded.

We ran over and picked up our respective glasses, and she leaned forward long enough for us to grab the fleece blanket that rested on the chair behind her, to snuggle up.

“Boy how things have changed,” she said, looking up at me and removing the sunglasses from my head, placing them on a nearby table.

Madison was the first to take the bait.  “How, Mommom Betty?”

She looked out, mesmerized by the slowly falling flakes, and smiled.

It was 1923, and the first snow day we’d had in years.  I waited impatiently for mom to finish cleaning the kitchen so she could approve of my snow clothing.  Finally she came in, drying her hands on her apron.

“Okay let’s see how you’ve done,” she said with a warm smile.

I stood at attention, ready for inspection.

“No, no, no Betty.  This is no good. Come on.”

She took me upstairs to the attic, pulled open the large, seldom-used bottom drawer and started rooting through it.  She pulled out pair after pair of long johns, and put them into a pile in front of me.  Finally, after four pairs of pants and two shirts she stopped.

“Okay get those snow pants off and put these on.”

“All of them?”

“Yes.  Do that while I go look for more shirts.”

I sighed and started taking off the pants, putting on pair after pair until I felt like I was twice my original size.  I ran down to her, looking around in other drawers in her room, anxious to go out and play.

Finally, mom gave up.  “I guess that’ll have to do.  Here are gloves and a hat.  Let me help you get those snow pants back on.”

I was struggling trying to put them on over the several pairs of long johns, unsuccessfully.  The pants just wouldn’t fit.

“Stand up,” mother said, smiling.  She held onto the pants as I jumped up and down, shoving my way into them.  “Okay that should do it.  Let’s get that coat on.  And next the gloves, okay hat, and now let’s put on your hood.”

I hated the hood.  I frowned at her.

“Frown all you want, young lady, I will not have you catching your death of cold out there.  That’s how people get sick.”

She tied the hood tight, too tight, and double-knotted it so I couldn’t possibly untie it, especially considering my mittens.

“Okay now for the socks,” she said handing me two more pairs of thick, heavy socks my great-grandmother had sent me. “Now boots!” as she shoved them on over the socks.  I was finally ready.

“Okay now go have fun.”

I ran outside to the garage, where dad had left my wooden sled for me against the big wooden door.  It was hard and tiring to walk with all of those layers, but well worth it.  Soon I would be sledding with my friends at the park.  I put the sled down into the snow, the metal rails scratching against the driveway underneath the snow a bit where father had shoveled.  I tried three times before successfully clutching the frayed twine that acted as a rope handle for it, finally grabbing it between the small and giant finger my mittens changed my hand into, and I was ready.

There was nothing like that moment walking to the playground as I could see small heads popping up at the top of the hill, then disappearing down into a snowy pit, screaming in happiness all the way down.  I could hear the fun from a block away, before I could even see it, and as I got closer I walked faster, anticipating the fun.

I made it.  I walked to the top of the hill, and saw all of my friends, unrecognizable in all those layers of clothing, at the bottom, waving me down.  They were making snow angels.  I brought my sled to the edge, sat down, grabbed the wooden handles that let me steer, and slowly pushed myself off of the top of the hill.

After a little over an hour, I knew I had to head home, and started the sad walk back.  Mother wouldn’t want me gone much longer, and certainly would be cross with me if I missed lunch.

I got home, placed the sled right where father had left it, and went to the back door, where I knew I had to go to take off layer upon layer of snowy, wet clothing.

And when I finally finished, mother had a hot chocolate sitting at the table, a real one made from milk and melted chocolate, and I sipped it, feeling the warmth flow through my shivering body.

At this point, she had fallen asleep, and I sipped my soy hot chocolate, finally warming up, and I, too felt that warmth from the drink.  As I got up to play Rock Band with Madison, I noticed something Mommom’s hand, and reached out, carefully taking it.

It was a photo, wrinkled and black and white, of my Mommom all bundled up, pulling her sled in front of our house.  She looked a lot like Madison.