March 23, 2015
We all thought winter was done. The groundhog’s six weeks were up and spring had (appeared to have) arrived. Mid-March brought us near record-highs and our skin, which had been sensibly shielded for five months, was once again bared to feel the heat of the sun. Snow pants were washed and packed away. Heavy boots were relegated to the basement. Capri pants replaced corduroys in our closets.
But Mother Nature is a fickle friend. Sunday night, only one week after delivering temperatures in the upper 60s, she dropped a bombshell on us – a bombshell of four inches of white powder.
As much as I protested its arrival Sunday morning, once the snow was here, I had to admit, it was beautiful. This was the how-many-snowflakes-can-you-catch-on-your-tongue kind of snowfall. This was the kind of snowfall that lights up and silences the night. This was the type of snowfall that you long for every autumn, when the temperatures drop and the trees are bare. This was the wet, heavy snow that adorns houses, dons the naked trees and turns the world into a winter wonderland.
Mother Nature had cheated us out of this type of snowfall this year and knowing that it wouldn’t last long, I took some time yesterday morning to capture the moment – and cross my fingers that this truly was the last snow that we’d see until fall.