let it snow...a little...

It snowed the morning after mom died. It was Valentine's Day. Most undoubtedly because of the fact that we: grew up loving snow; have vivid memories of times spent in snow; have an internal connection to the land of the north from our summer vacations in the cabin; and that as married adults mom traded a holler to our upstairs room for a phone call to alert us to the first glimpse of flakes, we claimed "this" snow as ours. Every one since has been heralded by a phone call from dad until of course recently but there is a welcome comfort, a contradictory warmth in our white friend.

I understand the grief it layers on travel, whether by foot or otherwise, but there is never a glimmer of snow I don't giggle over. I suppose if I had some tragedy to associate with the stuff it would alter significantly my personal snowglobe but for now I wrap it around my heart and welcome the twinkle it sets in my eyes. It has been said my God is too busy and complicated to attend a prayer for snow. So I'm probably pushing my luck to be so specific. This child is asking for enough to dust my neck of the woods with comfort over the following week and nothing enough to compromise anyone's safety. Smile. Go ahead. I just sent my sister a text message that read "It snowed!" She just replied. "We are loved!"