For three days and nights last week we had snow — intermittent, it’s true, but thick and luxurious when it came. Two weeks earlier I’d seen daffodils unfurling, but at last winter seemed to wake up and realize it had missed its cue and showed up in force.
Not being the home parent anymore, I can’t report on much of what the kids did with the snow. I know they went to VFS one of those days, and played with their friends in the snow at the nearby park; and I know that at least one snowball fight happened here at home. I was able to drive in to work on all but one day, though, so I missed most of it.
On the morning I stayed home, though, I did tramp out with Nathan to the nearby grove of trees to enjoy the white. And the next morning, when the snow was thick on the ground but the roads were clear, I left a tiny snowman on the hood of Dave’s truck, to peer in through the window at them when they got in to go to school. (Dave told me it slid off as he approached the freeway, probably in fear of its life.)
And I had the great, rare pleasure of driving to work in the early morning with everything blanketed white, branches thick and soft, and street lights casting pools of warm light among the trees.