The first snowfall. It came last night on silent clouds, hovering overhead, then abandoning its larger parent for an independent freefall.
My siblings and I stared silently at the magical sight before us, the ground being eclipsed by the small, white orbits, drifting against trees, encasing their slender arms with a satiny sheen.
It was lovely. And suddenly, I couldn’t take it anymore. I threw open our sliding door and leapt outside, bare-footed, short sleeved, and giddy. Throwing up cliche arms, I tried to catch the biggest snowflakes on my hands, then noticed my siblings still staring through the door.
Being mature and responsible and the eldest, I reluctantly said, “I suppose I could share. C’mon!”
They did. By the time they were done capering about the patio, it looked as though Mr. Tumnus and several of his little faun friends had thrown a party for the woodland animals.
Breathless, we finally clambered back through the sliding door, heads encrusted with snowflakes, and resumed our silent staring.
There is supposed to be more snow tonight.
My mental age tonight will probably be…
“The first fall of snow is not only an event, it is a magical event. You go to bed in one kind of a world and wake up in another quite different, and if this is not enchantment then where is it to be found?” ~ J.B Priestley