We all hoped for snow.
It’s impressive how many people love the idea of a good snow storm. I suppose one reason for not abandoning a northern state such as this is that it offers (though it does not always deliver) snow.
Thinking of the words, the imagery – it’s all comforting: under a blanket of snow, the hush of a snowfall, a winter wonderland.
Of course, we know that it is a gift for children and so we are happy for them. But ourselves? When was the last time a sleigh bell tingalingled past your door and brought you great joy and laughter?
Still, we want it. We think it’ll place us in front of a (hypothetical) fireplace, with marshmallows swimming in hot chocolate and a (not hypothetical) lover’s arm around our entire self. Comforted. Made better. All because of the snow.
It came, alright. Early in the morning, I went out on the roof terrace and watched the streets slowly change from gray to white.
Readers from around here know that by afternoon the gentle white stuff turned to vicious icy, slushy pellets. I know there’s a reason for this even as I do not understand it: the temps are near twenty and we can’t even get a decent snowfall.
I went to a park with a hill to see if anyone would dare take a sled out. One, maybe two, did.
It hurt to step outside and take the photo! Kids are made of different stuff.
I drove out into the country briefly. Ed needed a ride in something sturdier than his little Geo and I volunteered. We were snarky and irritable the whole ride in, which only goes to show that images of snow and fireplaces and blankets etc etc are all fine and beautiful, but reality typically follows a different (icy) path.
By evening, the view from the roof was made gentle by the appearance of city lights. But the ice pellets continued and there was no point in lingering. Besides, there is always the task of getting supper going.
