Snow

Snow is coming down outside. I don't think it will stick, but there is still hope.

Ha, ha. I've always loved snow, ever since I was a kid.

One of my earliest memories was wandering out of my room at the age of 3 at about 6 AM. I walked into the dining room with the glass sliding door, and suddenly the universe outside was white in the early morning light. Clouds were heavy over the mountains, and from their depths a white army cascaded across the valley. My dad was sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast, dressed in his green flight-suit. My mom wore a green velvet robe with silver vines curling along the hems.

As I looked upon the billowing snow, I was transfixed. It was a paradox of a silent white desert and the muted fury of a storm as the flakes churned around the streetlights.

She took me by my hand, led me to the roaring fire where a large pillow lay. She returned with my special blue plastic cup with a handle-hot chocolate, the marshmellows half melted. I looked into the flames, and hearing my parent's voices at the table, I was happy.

That's the end of the memory.

If it sounds too good to be true, too perfect- too contrived, it's not. Honest.

Maybe that's why I remember it so well.

So, right now... maybe I'll turn off the news, open the curtains- make myself a cup of hot chocolate.

( :