A Southern Snow

It's so strange how the light coming through my windows is pure white on a morning after it snows. Years of studying how light manipulates the look of a frame, and I'm still in awe and like a kid at Christmas on a snowy Saturday morning.

As snowy as it ever gets in the south anyway.

I woke up this particular lazy morning a little later than usual. It was my first day off in a bit, making the overnight snow an absolute blessing. The winds, temperatures, and slick roads forced me to stay home regardless of how much work I thought I might need to be getting done today. 'No,' the snow said, 'today is a day for rest.'

Now, you must understand the rarity of an event like this in the south. I live in the little pocket of warmth that is Raleigh, North Carolina, meaning even if we do get a "winter event," it is no doubt going to be an unforgiving ice storm rather than a frosty winter's morning of sparkling white snow. And this ice doesn't act like the snow many people are accustomed to. It isn't a white and fluffy blanket. It's bright and slick and creates sheets of black ice on the roads, unfamiliar with such winter weather, that make driving anytime close to the event a quiet hazard. Our power poles and waving woods are under a violent attack whenever an ice storm hits the Carolinas.

However, this morning I woke up to a lovely reflection of the sun off a very thin layer of the sugar-white ice that had, sometime during the night, become a much closer resemblance of its lovely winter cousin, the snowstorm.

There I was, standing in the middle of the already bustling living room and staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows at one of the closest things to a snowfall we'd had in a long time. My dad passed by me and leaned over, "Thought you might want to get some pictures before it's gone."

I agreed wholeheartedly, but I also had just woken up. Let's take it slow, grab some breakfast, get a few games in, and feel a little more alive before I brave the freezing cold temperatures of the high 30s.

No, I did not want to go out today. I didn't want to be cold, and I didn't want to take the time to figure out the settings for my new film camera in such reflectively bright environments. I didn't want to move quickly, I'd been moving quickly all week. And I really just wanted to crawl back under the heated blanket in my bed. I can enjoy the snow from there, right? I do have windows.

There's really no explanation for what I did next. It's nothing profound or even all that notable. While standing in the middle of the living room, I simply decided that I would go out immediately. No delay

and no waiting for me to "wake up a bit more." I hustled into my room, gathered some comfortable yet

stylish winter clothes (which included snow pants because of course I'd at some point be getting on the ground to take pictures), threw my warmest coat and gloves on, and out the door I was.

I didn't walk very far, just up our street a bit. At least, until I started sliding on ice that was still

sheltered by the tree shadows. But in just that half hour of testing apertures, shutter speeds, and compositions, I felt myself come to life in the way I thought I needed to wait for in order to go out in the first place.

I was awake and alert and passionate about the photos I was finding. Yes, finding. Photography is an observance of the world and a discovery and capturing of the beauty that's already there.

When I arrived back at the steps of our front porch, I could see the snow I had taken photos of just minutes before was already dissipating. I filled up with a thankfulness that God had prompted me to just go and do. Not wait. The thing I would have been waiting for I found in the action. And I found so much beauty that might have passed me by if I had spent the day waiting for what was already out there.