Loving Men-Snow


Sometimes you don’t realize you miss something until you see it again.

snowfall1It’s snowing in Charlotte this morning. While not a blizzard, Charlotte’s citizens treat it as one. For me it signifies the start of winter. Winter is the one season that I don’t miss. What I do miss is that first snowfall. Which fell this morning in Charlotte.

I think too many see snow as an encumbrance, an obstacle, something to avoid or get rid of or dislike.

Snow makes me remember: That one Thanksgiving day when I was ten and walking snowyardacross the schoolyard on my way to Weinlien’s to buy a gallon of milk, and it was snowing lightly, flurries is what we called them, and I ran freely catching these molted angel feathers on my tongue.

Snow makes me remember: Sledding in the schoolyard where a dusting of fluffy snow snow1landed atop frozen rain causing gross miscalculations of body weight plus snow gear plus sled divided by depth of ice and pitch of schoolyard, resulting in my one out-of-control run sending me speeding into a fence which opened at the bottom and out I flew like a nylon torpedo onto the sidewalk three feet below.

Snow makes me remember: My Wheatie puppy, Jenni, running and barreling into snow, then standing up, her face covered with that ivory white icing.

Snow makes me remember with tremendous fondness times long past. Rain or sun or fog or thunderstorms or humidity does not make me remember.

Perhaps on a snow day when you didn’t have to go in to work like Rodrigo, or when you were dismissed early like Calhoun and Vincent, you could stop regretting the snow, or hating it’s mischieviousness, and remember those times when this white miracle made you smile.

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