I woke up with a start around 4:30 on December 7th. I normally sleep so soundly that I need five alarms to get me out of bed, but something had definitely disturbed my slumber.
As my eyes adjusted, I saw and heard it at the same time: snow.
I don’t like Christmas but I love snow. Everything about it is wonderful and magical and makes me happy and I want it to snow for months and months so I can get bundled up in lots of layers of clothes and then roll around in it. The sound of falling snow is maybe the best thing on earth and so hard to capture on tape as to seem mystical, but my wolf ears hear all and they’re especially alert for any sign of activity on the snow frequency.
Sadly, it hadn’t been cold enough here for the snow to stick so, in the morning, all that was left was some frozen windshields.
Of course, as a person who loves snow, it rarely does near me. When I was living in Boston, there was a fluke blizzard on April 1st that was easily the best day I had during the five years I was there. Come to think of it, if I had to list my Best Days Ever, another snowstorm in DC would rank highly as well as the March day it snowed in Barcelona and the December 1st when I was in Lyon and it snowed several inches overnight.
But the Universe didn’t want me to have snow this year, so instead it sent part of my family back to the land whence we came where there was so much snow that their flight was cancelled and they drove part of the way, passing 102 cars and trucks which had slid into ditches. And then, they got to spend some days in a proper winter wonderland that looked like this:
All I have are memories of winters past and the hopes that meteorological freaky business will come my way.