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Spring break starts in four days. We are hoping for snow. My son and I are taking a trip north to visit my brother in New Hampshire. Their place got great snow this year, so much that the northern Spillanes needed to buy a new roof rake, refurbish their snow blower and dig, dig, dig. I know nothing about such things. I know as much as star fish knows about snow.
I know robins in January
and year-round growing green.
I know wind chimes
and blue skies. Salt water
and bubbling springs,
swimming, I know.
But I do love it. My husband, born and raised in Connecticut, says that I would not love snow if I had to live in it. Likely that's true. Still, I love the white magic of snow.
The first time I saw snow I was in the tenth grade. We were living in Atlanta. It was a rare snow storm. School was cancelled the day before and it seemed as if the very air was holding its breath. I remember watching out my front window, seeing moon light through pine boughs, but not much else. "No snow yet," we kept saying before bed.
Somehow, I fell asleep waiting. Somewhere around two or three in the morning, my mom came in and woke me up.
"Wake up, Lee Ann, wake up."
"What is it?"
"Snow, come on. Let's go make angels. There's snow."
She got my brother and I bundled--coats over pajamas. We might have put on shoes. Out into the front yard we went. Whisper white silence and moonlight.
Wow. The world looks different covered in white--it smells and sounds different too, new.
We slipped and crunched into the middle of the yard, plopped down on our backs and windmilled arms and legs. Past-midnight angels, blue light, hush and glow. What a wonder that was, that snow.
|Collin's first snow angel during the spring break snow adventure of 2008.|