I just looked out my window to find soft, downy snowflakes tumbling out of the sky. There’s already a light blanket of white on the ground and the flakes are swirling faster and faster, buffeted by the wind. Is it possible we might have a white Christmas this year? Who knows, the weather can be capricious, but if it’s snowing already this early in December the chances of having that pretty white blanket out the window on Christmas Day seem improved.
Hopefully, this will help to cheer up my eldest son, who has been complaining more and more vociferously about the cold since the weather turned, begging to go back to California where it’s warm. This morning, he refused point blank to go outside at all, because it was too cold and the cold scared him. He hid under a quilt in his pajamas and wound up being very late to school. He’s been asking about snow too, since we moved, waiting and waiting for it to arrive, so maybe this will be more fun for him than icy winds and frozen ground and help ease this adjustment from West Coast living to East Coast.
We’re only supposed to get an inch or two, so that shouldn’t stop the town from running, but it’s enough that a small child who’s never really played in the snow before might find it wonderful and exciting. I remember snowdrifts and sledding so fondly from my own youth. It’d be nice if my sons will be able to find the same fun that my brothers and I used to have, careening down Orchard Way on fast-runnered sleds. We drove by there today on the way to drop Vic off at school and I eyed the hill speculatively, memories tugging at the edges of my mind for acknowledgement. It’s still strange to live here again, but not in that house or on that street.
This year when the snow lies thick on the ground and makes the sky pink with reflected lamplight I will see it from a different angle, a different set of windows, than the cozy pink room that once held me, only a short walk across the train tracks.