I woke up very early this morning and it was cold but
raining. In less than an hour the rain had turned to snow.
John took the van to work which was fine with me as I don't
have anyplace I need to be. He had planned on a quick trip
to Albany to go to the bank and mail a computer monitor to
be repaired after work this evening but it'll depend on the
weather. It's supposed to warm up later this afternoon but
then get into the mid 20's tonight which will mean ice.
Dylan Thomas in "A Christmas in Wales" writes:
"Our snow was not only shaken from white wash buckets down
the sky, it came shawling out of the ground and swam and
drifted out of the arms and hands and bodies of the trees;
snow grew overnight on the roofs of the houses like a pure
and grandfather moss, minutely-ivied the walls and settled
on the postman, opening the gate, like a dumb, numb
thunder-storm of white, torn Christmas cards."
The snows of childhood are different. My grandmother used
to wrap me up in so many shawls and scarves I could barely
walk. I remember the smell of woolen mittens drying on the
wood stove and the air hurting my lungs when I breathed.
We'd build snowmen and make snow angels, go sledding on the
hill down the street and go ice skating at the town's
outdoor rink. There would be days of blizzards too when I
wouldn't be allowed outside.