The First Fall of Snow

The first fall of snow is not only an event, it is a magical event. You go to bed in one kind of world and wake up in another quite different, and if this is not enchantment then where is it to be found? 

 J.B. Priestley

Well, I am sorry to say it doesn't feel so magical when you are trying to get home from work in blizzard-like conditions. That's exactly what it was like last night. The wind was so gusty the flakes stung one's face. Yet, despite the discomfort, it was such an amazing sight...for awhile, that is.  After about 30 minutes of standing out in it, waiting for the bus, I was starting to look like a snowman. I'd had enough, so when a van pulled up offering rides for $3, I was one of the first to hop it. It was well worth it. Who knows what time that bus would have arrived? 

I have a feeling we are in for a rough winter. Already it has been pretty rough. Last year all I remember is a few flakes, and the year before had very little snow as well.  I remember seated by my living room window last year, waiting for the highly predicted snowfall, only to see a few lonely flakes fall from the sky.  I don't think I will be disappointed this year. I think this year we will have more than enough.  After all, it's not even Thanksgiving yet.  That's quite unusual around here.

When I no longer thrill to the first snow of the season, I'll know I'm growing old. 

Lady Bird Johnson

There is still know word as to when my subway will be off and running.  Most of them are already up now, so I am assuming that it must have sustained some severe damage. They are not telling us anything, so all I can do is venture a guess.  I am trying not to let this get me down.  Instead I am looking at the bright side of things and go along with the flow. At least I am learning new ways to travel, and I have met some very nice people. It seems that every day I meet somebody new...stranger reaching out to stranger. On normal days, everyone remains in their own world on subways.  Perhaps making pleasant conversation with a stranger is everyone's way of coping.  I love it.

I wonder what they are,

These pretty, wayward things,

That o'er the gloomy earth

The wind of heaven flings.

Each one a tiny star,

And each a perfect gem;

What magic in the art

That thus has fashioned them.

What beauty in the flake

That falls upon my hand;

And yet this tiny thing

My will cannot command.

No two are just alike,

And yet they are the same;

I wonder if my thought

Could give to each a name.

Unlike the fragile flowers

That love the sun's warm rays,

These snow-flakes love the cold,

And die on sunny days!

So dainty and so pure,

How beautiful they are;

And yet the slightest touch

Their purity may mar.

They must be gazed upon,

Not handled or caressed;

And thus we hold afar

The things we love the best.

By Fannie Isabelle Sherrick