It is early March and it has been a record
breaking winter of ice, snow and freezing temperatures. People are becoming as
bitter as the north wind that has rarely left us since November. In the dark of
the early morning we warm our cars or huddle around bus and streetcar stops -
we trudge through the fresh fallen snow - bundled and bowed, stomping our feet
for warmth.
It snows large soft flakes that float straight
down on this windless morning. The city is once again under a thin blanket of
white. It quiets sounds - even muffling the grind of the steel streetcar
wheels. People whisper in hushed tones. Something hangs in the air that we do not wish to disturb.
On this city street corner, under the glow of
the lights , our world is transferred into a snow globe. Even this late in the
winter and weary of the cold, the snow brings wonder and magic. The few of us
in the dark and cold turn our faces to the sky and marvel. It is beautiful. We
are held by the marvel of it.
It feels like the first snow and all the joy
that brings.... perhaps because this may be the last snow... perhaps the magic
is in the turning of the seasons - and we sense it in our bones.
Just me.
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