I anticipate the dump. Not sure why I get this way when I know snow is on the way. I keep checking the sky. Waiting. Come on, come on. Where are you?
I think of sliding down hills, stomping through neighborhoods, checking through town to see who’s out, who is cowering inside. Snowmen and makeshift igloos appear. The world hushes, but there’s an anticipation of surprise in the air. Anything can happen when it snows.
Perhaps that’s it. The idea the world has changed. The landscape painted a different color. Even if it melts away, the change is visible. If only for awhile.
Traffic dwindles. No one thinks it’s strange people are walking rather than driving. Neighbors stand in their yards and watch. Life has reverted back fifty years without the attitude shift.
A thing to rejoice.
It will snow and I have a huge piece of cardboard waiting to be used in the corner of my kitchen. This means, when the ground is ready, I’m going to sled down the nearest hill. I’ll use it until it falls apart.
Fifty refers to the biological process of aging, but does not include this thing that happens to some of us when we know it’s going to snow. Suddenly, there’s a rush of anticipation. We talk and step a bit faster.
Yes, there is a skip in that step. We smile and laugh more. Reality will be upended for awhile.
The world will be covered with this magical white sheet, masking ugly asphalt, muting noise pollution and bring the world back to a time we never should have left.
Perhaps that’s it too.
Some of us love the magic a weather phenomenon can produce. Six inches of snow and the whole world changes.
What a thought.