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Let It Snow

December 10, 2008

“It’s snowing!”

We all looked up, and sure enough, snow was softly drifting past the windows. Several of us rushed to the windows, having lived our whole lives in the gulf coast region of Texas and never actually seen snow. The teacher didn’t bother to stop us. It had been a slow day, just days before the start of the holidays, and there hadn’t been much going on anyways. I in the desk closest to the high windows, gazed up into steel gray sky, and marveled. Snow. In Texas.

My fondest memory of that day was of walking home from school, next to the boy I’d been in puppy love with since the sixth grade, and being giddily thrilled by the sight of snow flakes on the tips of my black gloves. That short walk down the street from our bus stop held the sort of magic that only a rare snow can grace the day with. The street was hushed, my cheeks tingled with cold air, and I was in love. Poetry and music and movies have been crafted around such magical moments, and all I wanted was for it to last forever. Sadly it didn’t stick to the ground and, like most Texas winters, the next day was warm and humid.

This morning, 15 years after that magical day, my first sign of snow was not the cry of a young classmate, but a text message on Moose’s phone. His coworker wanted a ride to work. It was only after checking online that I thought to look outside for the reason why. Snow, invisibly drifting through the air, was gathering in gentle drifts wherever there was a surface flat enough to hold its feathery weight. On this morning, practicality wins out over magic. I wonder where my umbrella is, if I can find a hat in the mess of the closet, and whether or not I should leave a little early for my doctor’s appointment.

But deep down, I wish for that magical moment again. To crawl into my nice warm bed, with my love beside me, my cats gathered around my legs, and a pile of fluffy blankets to protect me. We’ll cuddle close, drink hot cider, and watch television while the snow drifts down around our safe little house. We haven’t a fire to roast chestnuts on, but it would be nice to have no place to go today. Snow may no longer hold the magic and wonder that it once did for me, but there is still a spark there. And I dearly wish I could curl up around it with my honey and share it with him. If only for a few minutes.

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