Memories of childhood snows….”Babe, it snowed lsat night. School is cancelled.” Running to the window for “ocular proof” that the Deep South’s version of snow had truly fallen and being rewarded by several inches of heavy, wet, pure white. No time for breakfast. Layers of clothes and cheep rubber boots and out the door. Snow angels, snow men, snow balls checked off the list before the magic disappeared. Save the pure, clean snow on the patio table for snow ice cream, a rich concoction of sinful hot custard and snow. We had no idea about acid rain or pollution in that part of the world. Only when I was soaking wet, and chaffed by the frozen rubber boots, did I sheepishly make my way in the house for hot chocolate.
Snow has kept its magic but for different reasons. A sneak vacation from work and fingers crossed that the day does not have to be “made up.” A chance to catch up on work, read, and maybe even take a nap. No snowman for me as I do not like the cold, but I still enjoy the beauty and pristine whiteness of the day.
SNOW-FLAKES
BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow
Descends the snow.
Even as our cloudy fancies take
Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make
In the white countenance confession,
The troubled sky reveals
The grief it feels.
This is the poem of the air,
Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
Now whispered and revealed
To wood and field.
groundlingdotme 
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