Friday, February 2
The residual the night's bliss left on my Jag.
It finally snowed here. I stood outside and let the big, fat, wet flakes fall on my hair and my face. More often than not we get ice storms; frozen drizzle that sticks to the trees and downs power lines with its weight. Icicles that form into crystal stalactites that drop off onto the road making crashing noises all through the day. A wonderland where everything is covered in dazzling crystal. It's the most beautiful devastation I have ever seen. And terrifying to walk around under the trees, with their moaning creaks from the weight of the ice.
The most amazing thing about our ice storms is the sound in the morning. As the sun beams down it's warmth, the giant icicles begin to melt, they make loud crackling noises that I can only equate with the distinct sound of cicadas. A sound that fills the air all around and lasts throughout the day and into night. You can hear the crackling thaw as you lay in bed at night, punctuated by the intermittent thundering crash as one of the behemoths makes landfall.
But not this time.
This time it was real snow. It reminded me of my Northern past except that the flakes that fall here are heavier, wetter, more fragile. Most hit the ground and are snuffed out immediately, so I took the most pleasure in walking around in it and leaving footprints with my new fur mukluks. Not enough to make a snow angel, but enough to blanket the night in white.
It was short-lived of course, as I awoke there was only the barest hint of the beauty from the night before. I should have saved a bit in the freezer. Just a reminder of what real snow looks like. It's all just cold mud now.