Snow – Are We There Yet?

Snow falls as thick, fluffy, wads of ice that slap the tops of puddles left by yesterday’s rain.

The grumbling sound of thunder accompanies the shouts of children undeterred from summer pastimes, as a baseball splits the flakes on its way to a tobogganed batter.

Paddled cactus fronds bend with fluffy, white weight.

Birds jump about leaving three-pronged impressions in the green and white lawn, while, seeing them, the dog pauses at the back door, unwilling to brave the blizzard despite the temptation.

But, he watches.

From his perch in front of the windows, his ears perk as he watches white stuff fall from a pewter colored sky, covering everything it touches. He watches hooded, mittened children run and play, and gather slush, crunching it between hands they no longer feel, before hurtling it at the nearest unsuspecting target. I wonder what he thinks…

I join him at the window, and wrapping myself in my own arms as a guard against the icy glass, we marvel at the wonder and beauty of a southern snow.

I live in hot, and now arid, Atlanta. A city that moves at the speed of light, and barely notices that it hasn’t rained in months or snowed in years.
A much-needed break in our drought came some time around November, and the rains fell. The lakes are still wanting, but reservoirs are filling, allowing the lakes to hold their precious raindrops a little longer.
Today, it snowed. The weathermen were right, for once, and it snowed! As I sit in my tiny car, forced upon me by the length of my commute and soaring gas prices, I idle, as I do every day at this time, waiting for other weary commuters to pass on an adjacent roadway.
The snowflakes dancing across my windshield are a miracle only a true southerner could enjoy, and I muse as I watch them fall and melt, fall and melt. I enjoy the whiteness of them, their fluffy, irregular shape, and their rarity.
Glancing to my left, I see a small bespectacled boy, buckled snuggly into the backseat of his mother’s Mercedes. As my gaze lands on him, he spies the swirling miracle outside his window and stretches one pudgy hand towards the window in the kind of pure joy only a child can experience. His swarthy face breaks into a crooked grin as he turns towards me. His smile glows brighter as he discovers someone to share this miracle with, and he gestures wildly with his hands as if to say “Look! Look at that! Have you ever seen anything so wonderful?!” His mouth moves, and he must have made some noise, because his 30-something mother turns in her seat. She sees the joy in her child’s eyes and her face, too, breaks into a smile. She looks across to me and acknowledges my presence in her child’s miracle. She waves and mouthes something I’m sure would have warmed my heart even more had I been able to hear, as she softly wraps her child’s waving hand softly inside hers. And the light changes from red to green.
In a city like Atlanta, where so many are wrapped up in their own agendas, and schedules, and stresses, 3 people stopped at a traffic light, and enjoyed a snow flurry, and almost touched.

Tag: Snow

Southern Snow

Almost Touched