First snow. OK, not really first snow – that was weeks ago, although it was just an inch, and was gone by the next day.
Weather forecast says accumulations of five to eight inches possible. That’s the operative word, possible. I never believe the weather reports, just look out the window and wait. (Accu-Weather – now there’s an oxymoron for you.) Looks like the usual suspects are taking no chances, though. School was called off this morning, reminding me of snow days past, with the boys ecstatic at the prospect of gliding down Gaunt Park Hill, to be followed by cups of marshmallow-y hot chocolate. Even the library is closed for the day, although I had to walk up the steps before I realized. No cars out front, but there were several bicycles locked in the rack, which I attributed to folks more intrepid than I (admittedly, it’s no hazard for me to travel to the library, it being only half a block door to door – as the realtors say, location, location, location!).
I love walking across town with the snow flying. It forces me to slow down, allows me to observe things I’m usually in too much of a hurry to notice. Homes lit cozily from within, frost tracing the lower corners of the windows, just like in children’s picture books. Scent of wood smoke in the air. Snowflakes stuck in my eyelashes and bangs, sneaking down my neck. Giggles of little tots as they lick snow from a porch railing that’s the same height as their mouths.
I have great memories of winters gone by, blizzards that actually did keep us home from school (we rarely had snow days), whizzing down “Suicide Hill” on our Flexible Flyers. Plastic bread bags on our feet, making them sweat inside the old black galoshes with the clips running down the front (at least one of which always refused to close). We’d stay outside sledding, throwing snowballs, building snow forts, making snow angels, until our teeth were chattering, our lips blue, and mittens matted thickly with ice. Those were the days!
I’m looking forward to some real white stuff coming to close the roads, pile up attractively on the fence posts, and keep us indoors, snug around the woodstove. Tonight I’ll spend an (anxious) evening waiting for the stomping of my son’s boots on the kitchen porch, telling me he’s off the slushy, icy roads and home safe.