Not very often but enough to make it magical there is a prediction for snow here. It’s never very much, only a few inches, but it has that transformative ability to change the landscape just briefly into something extraordinary.
The prediction has been talked about over the past several days, so I went for a walk hoping to distract myself. I remember when I was little and though I was the only real daydreamer in my classes there were certain days during winter when every child’s eyes were trained outside those classroom windows almost willing the snow to fall. Whether there had been a prediction or not did not matter. We could feel it, smell it, even the air looked different. Then later, after our exasperated teacher had called us to task we would glance back out those windows to see snow falling so hard you couldn’t see past it.
So as I walked I looked hard against tree lines and sides of hills, even creating an illusory appearance of snowflakes. The frozen air grated against my cheeks, rubbing them a rosy red. I looked up at the slate-grey where even the sun appeared an imposter of itself through the ice-crystalled clouds.
It’s always a surprise here, to see snow.