The Ever-Snow Meadow

Tonight, I turn fifteen.

I’m not sure I’m ready. And yet…

We rush the path in leaping, skipping steps, the downhill dirt trail swerving through the trees. Our voices crack as we half-hiss, half-crow threats to be silent, the mad ca-thunk of our heart beats drumming loud in our ears.

It’s just us five. Us five who have grown up together in the mountain village, in these woods where journeymen and travelers pass through on their way to bigger and better things. Us five who were born during the same storm filled summer the adults still speak of with reverence fifteen years later, less due to the storms and more because of the unnatural wonder left behind.

A wonder we race toward now.

The moon watches with mirth, peeking through the shadow painted trees, the forest shaking its head as we giggle and hiss and squeak and stumble our way downward, stirring up scents of leaf dust and pine decay in our wake.

“There it is!” Elliott hisses just in front of me, sending my heart leaping ahead of my feet.

The world breaks open, a sky of a thousand-thousand stars unfurling before me, stretching wide between the distant trees that line the tiny valley, shimmering so low I feel like I can almost touch them.

I jerk to a stop at the edge of the grass. Frozen white waits at the toes of my boots. Warm air teases at my back.

The Ever-Snow Meadow.

A sound of strangled delight squeezes out of Merrily as she bounces on her toes beside me, looking out over the blanket of snow. Beyond her, Johnathan sucks in a deep breath through his broad nose.

Our chaos settles around our feet, satisfaction easing into our bones.

Others shy from this place, wary of its ‘unnatural defiance of the seasons.’ But I can’t help tremble with awe and delight. How can someone look at this place and not see the Creator’s hand? See His artistic brush? They draw back because they don’t understand. But His mysterious crafting of this marvel only draws me in further. It is fifteen years old this summer, same as us. And so, we have claimed this meadow as our own.

“You’re up, June-bug!” Boone says, his voice high and merry as he glances over top Elliott’s head at me.

It’s tradition now. Four other times this summer we have made this trek for a rite of passage. A birthday frolic, begun by the birthday-ee. Our own secret celebration, a childish dance to mark maturity.

I shuffle forward, my boots a grass blade away from the perfect white blanket. It looks deeper this time, deep enough to soak our skirts and pants halfway to the knees, at least.

Fifteen. The threshold of adulthood. A daunting step forward in life.

Merrily and Johnathan whisper something conspiratorially, and I ease a half-step to the side as I eye them, wary of a plot that would end with me receiving a face full of snow.

My arm bumps against Elliott’s.

“Sorry,” I whisper, rubbing at the goosebumps that have rippled across my skin.

He smiles, unbothered. The moon’s reflection against the snow catches in his dark brown eyes-another wonder by the Creator-my heart ca-thunk-ing with renewed vigor.

“You ready?” Elliott asks softly.

And suddenly, our impending frolic feels… weighty.

I pull a slow breath, fighting valiantly against the torrent of unnamed feelings that are both prickly and smothering, icy and sweltering. Is this what it feels like to be an adult?

Elliott’s fingers touch the palm of my hand, then backtrack.

I hold my breath, an utterly cliché behavior in a teenage girl, yes, but cliché’s can’t always be helped. Not when a moment nearly bulls you over like this.  

His hand engulfs mine. His fingers are cold, though I barely notice amidst the scalding burn that rushes under my skin, spreading throughout my body and threatening to melt the entire meadow.

“Ready?” Elliott asks again in a whisper.

My smile bites deep into my burning cheeks, crooked and awkward, I’m sure. I squeeze his hand back. Maybe stepping into adulthood isn’t so weighty a thing after all.

“Ready,” I whisper back.

And we leap forward together.