Tonight I am super tired and rather cranky. I don’t feel like writing. I’m not feeling a blast of inspiration, or even a trickle. But I’m here, so I might as well dig through the recesses of my remembering closets and haul a little something out, huh?
I remember snow. You know…that stuff we don’t see in Florida. Before we lived in Florida we lived in Nebraska, and prior to that, South Dakota. We were very used to snow when we came here.
The best part about snow is being inside where it’s cozy, watching it come down. There are snows that howl and blow sideways; those are the South Dakota-type snows. The snow doesn’t originate in South Dakota. It comes from Wyoming and just blows through on its way to Minnesota. Sometimes it snowed that way in Nebraska, too, but mostly in Nebraska we got the quiet snows. These are the snows that fall silently, blanketing the world in a heavy coat of white. It makes everything seem muffled and quiet. I think quiet snows are incredibly beautiful.
When we lived in Nebraska, we lived in a suburb of Omaha, on a cul-de-sac in a subdivision. We still had some fields around the subdivision, and our house backed up to an apple orchard. One night during a quiet snow Mr Sparky and I were standing at a front window in a darkened room of our house, looking out at the snow falling on the street of our cul-de-sac. It was so quiet, so still, and suddenly a red fox came trotting out into the street. He trotted through the snow, back and forth across the street and through the yards of our neighbors. We stood in awe, watching him. He was beautiful. The snow was beautiful. I felt amazed to get to witness it.
I miss snow. I know people around here think I’m nuts for that. I don’t miss having a lot of snow or long winters, but I do miss having four distinct seasons.