Heavy snowfall on a city street in the winter time of the year
The weather forecasters predicted 5-8 inches of snow would fall between 12-6pm today. By noon all the area schools were closing early.
Eventually our college conceded and we got to close at 3:15pm. Ironically, we did not close because of the weather, but because of a water main break at the main campus.
Never one to miss out on the unexpected pleasures of a partial snow day, I donned my infamous snow attire and took the hooligans out for their second walk of the day.
I can’t tell you who was more excited at the prospect of being the first one to make tracks along the pristine path before us.
Me, who secretly likes to make my steps in the snow resemble the dance steps I used to discover on the inside of disco albums. (Feel free to ask me to demonstrate “the hustle” or “the bump”. Some things you simply never forget.)
The hooligans – the red, yellow, and chocolate labs obsessed with walking each other by holding each other’s leashes in their mouths.
My neighbor Becca, who decided walking with us would burn off the brownies I had just delivered to her door.
Her dog Roscoe, who waits at his door for my dogs to come by and get him.
Or her snow angel making son, the great Gavinski, who is currently sporting a blue cast on his right arm.
There was something in the air – or maybe the brownies – that had us all in the mood for mayhem.
Snow was tossed about.
Leashes were lost and found.
And when enough fun was had by all, the dogs and I went out to talk to the trees.
I have to do this sort of thing at twilight or the other neighbors get concerned. “What does that woman see in those trees?” “Is she actually talking to them?” they ask.
Yes I am.
I am murmuring sweet nothings into their delicate branches. I’m fussing over them like a new mama because we planted them about four years ago and they are growing into fine young trees and I really need to let them know how much they mean to me.
In return for my attention they offered up the most exquisite gift. I can only describe them as snow bouquets. These trees are about my height so I could perfectly see how their branches cupped the snow like cotton in their protective boll.
And I realized they, too, are everyday alchemists offering up the most extraordinary gift in an ordinary snowfall.
What whispered to you today? Take note, dear ones.