Walking in a Winter Wonderland

Snow really is magical.  I think its magic lies in its beauty as it falls and its ability to make individuals feel empowered and the world seem a better place.  At least, that is how I felt as the flakes began to fall during our celebration of American Thanksgiving.  As they came down the world changed into a happier, better place.

I say this because all of a sudden that little flat was a flurry of activity.  Squealing females were bowling over their husbands in their rush to get to a window.  Cameras were grabbed.  "Oohs" and "Aaahs" were the vocabulary of the moment.  A night which had previously been declaimed as "bitterly cold" was suddenly a welcomed guest as window sashes were thrown open to let in the magical, sharp, pure air of a first snow.

Trisha and I were suddenly children as we donned our footwear and dashed down to the street to capture the snow on our tongues and on film.  We were not the only ones to be transported back to childhood by the snow. And you know what?  All the people on that street shared a common emotion: Happiness.  Jubilation, even, in some cases as the snow was gazed upon, held, shuffled through, or scooped up to aim at friends.

You see, the first snow does not bring thoughts of having to shovel, or of the dangers of ice and the annoyance of slush.  The first snow is enjoyable.  A celebration.

Walking home afterwards through that pure, perfect air with the silent snow around us was an untainted delight.