Snowflakes

Last night I dreamed of snowflakes, but not the white, frozen, crystalline kind. I was dreaming of handcrafted snowflakes, the kind made by folding a piece of paper over, and over and over again; and then strategically cutting shapes out of it by snipping, and snipping and snipping again.

Emma went through a long snowflake phase. For many years she would spend the winter months, when we were holed up inside more than we would like to be, creating these paper gems. The more she made them, the more intricate they became. She learned that if she trimmed around the outside of her folded paper she could alter the shape of the flake. She experimented with different sizes and shapes of snips and marveled at her creation when she unfolded the paper.

Soon the plain paper flakes did not hold her attention. She took to adorning them with glitter glue pens so that they would sparkle in the light just like a real snowflake. When we were lucky enough to get real snow, she would do field research, freezing a piece of black construction paper and then going outside to try to capture individual flakes on the frozen, black surface so that she could examine them more closely. We got one snowstorm when this technique worked particularly well, and the specimens we captured inspired a whole new flurry of snowflake generation.

During Emma’s snowflake phase we would find snowflakes scattered purposefully about the house, taking the place of the little love notes she customarily left. We would find them on our pillows, our bedside tables, and at our places at the table. She would post a particularly beautiful one on the refrigerator or bulletin board. And the teachers she had during this phase got an occasional dusting of snow, as well.

When I was dreaming of these snowflakes I understood anew the fascination that they had held. Each one was, it occurred to me, a little like seeing real snow for the very first time. You never knew quite what to expect when you unfolded that paper. The artistry and individuality of the creation was a surprise even to the creator. And I suppose the dream was also a reminder of an important lesson that Emma taught me: to look at all of creation with the wonder and awe it deserves.