Hidden in the Snow
I can feel the tips of my smile grow wider as we pass the reeds spouting from the white blankets of the Earth. The winds shrug off the lacy coating from the bare trees, giving the children an illusion that it’s snowing again once more. A lady with a red apron and a high bun comes out and shouts away. The woman has a ladle in her hand, and a fretting man by her side. The kids run around in circles around each other before rushing back into the cabin with the two adults, leaving behind a man made of snow out in front of the reeds.
I watch from the warmth of my cushioned seat on a train that stopped in its tracks for some malfunction somewhere. Chattering flows around me. A mother trying to shush her infant child. Two students discuss how much they miss home and what they can do when they get back to the city. A man with a head full of white hair, clattering away at his laptop. Another child seems to be adamant about not turning down the volume of the children’s show he’s watching, while his guardian slept away by his side. And a woman on the phone, trying to tell her mother that she might not make it home on time.
Everyone’s a busybody with a mind and agenda of their own. Like the snow on the branches that can’t stay still during the roaring winds.
My gaze stays fixated onto the cabin and the kids, whom run into this unknown field of snow. The smoke rises from their chimneys and into the air. And their pinwheels on the front porch go wild. Such a homely cabin seems like it’s straight out of a picture book. A protagonist would come out of the house and say simple words like, “let’s go out on an adventure.” Others would follow, as they go to a nearby lake, and discover the fun of ice skating. A supporting character gets hurt and falls and hurts his leg. He no longer can play anymore. He now feels left out watching the rest play on the frozen lake. His friends sympathize; thus, our main protagonist suggests a new solution. “Let’s go build a snowman!” He exclaimed. The rest of the boys and girls follow him and have more fun together. We learn about the power of unity and friendship. And then with a happy ending, the mother comes out with the father by her side and says, “I’ve made apple pie!”
And then you have a train passenger telling the story. What are the odds?
The overhead goes off, and the conductor has declared that he will resume the ride shortly. My hands automatically fall to the cold glass window. And there goes my incomplete fictional picture book story. And the train starts again, as I give one last smile to the little cabin in the snow. The precious little children on their untold journeys and the witnessing adults. I whisper my goodbyes, albeit they’ll never hear it.
The train speeds up, I’m now traveling further away as possible from the random stop we’ve delayed at, but watching the endless trees pass by me, and little homes from long distances, a new story unfolds before my eyes. Flashing through every second and every frame. Not nearly enough time for me to capture it. For the train refuses to make another delay. Seems as though my fellow passengers aren’t on the same page.
The train quickly picks up its pace, and the snow flies past at its speed. Like sparkly glitter in the air, it reminds me of magic. Am I to be transported into a mystical realm, or am I just enjoying the subtle beauty that goes unnoticed by many?
My heart feels heavy watching the snow shine underneath the sun. Such a calming picture will surely be missed when this train makes its final destination of my pickings beforehand. A metropolis city, where the locals have never seen the wonder of a snowflake. Such is a mystery; such is a shame.
is a current senior at University at Buffalo, majoring in English. She is a Bengali American woman who was born and raised in New York City with a huge love for food. She also loves to write, read mystery novels, historical fiction, and watch anime/k-dramas.