12 January 2015
Today started out almost balmy. But, by 9:00 am, the snow was falling like big pieces of confetti on New Year’s Eve in Times Square.
From the window in my classroom, we watched the snow pile up on the metal table outside.
By 1:00, the school district cancelled all after school activities and the students made plans to put teaspoons under their pillows and wear their pajamas backwards tonight. Legend has it that if everyone practices the teaspoon-pajama ritual, tomorrow will be a snow day.
Tonight, the dogs and I walked at dusk. Giant wet flakes landed on their backs and swirled in the wind.
Without cars out and about, the streets were soft and quiet. Bouncing like bunny rabbits, snacking on snow, and sinking their legs into the deep banks, the dogs were happy.
In the stillness, I remembered Sundance. There were years when we could not see the driveway. Sometimes, on snowy days, instead of skiing, we’d stay inside and watch Lonesome Dove. The octagonal fireplace threw off warmth and the plaid wool on the sofa encouraged us to sit.
Without leashes, Gorbachev, Midas and I trudged through the trail and wandered up the ski slope in the cold moonlight night after night.
Snow nights, when the world quiets itself with a soft blanket that muffles the sound of footsteps, are almost as nice as snow days spent inside with those we love.