The morning is blanketed in southern snow. Not the snow of my New York childhood with it’s snowsuits, and igloos, and snow “forts” and snowball fights on the corner of Lester Road and Darnley Place. Snowmen and toboggans in the backyard. Sleds and skis on the hill at Downing Park with it’s pond at the bottom where we tested out our Christmas ice skates. Hot chocolate by the bonfire as we tried to warm our frozen hands and feet. Snowball fights and snowcones made from real snow. Feet wrapped in plastic bags to try and keep the cold and water out (never really working, but we really didn’t care). And warm PJs and more hot chocolate after we peeled off the many layers of wet, cold snow clothes and cleaned up the puddles we created as a result.
Nope, this southern snow has none of that. But for a few minutes it does have one thing in common with my New York snow: the hushed peaceful way in which snow blankets the morning. It only lasts a short while but it’s the sound that brings back memories of what once was.
Everything has magic if you allow it to be so. Stay warm, stay safe.
From my heart to yours, Diane