It snowed today in Washington. The flakes were the size of a dime, wet, fat, almost ripe. The spouse and I bundled up and went outside, errands as our excuse.
The Snow Spouse
The first snow of the year is magical. City noises are hushed, and people walk slowly, eyes up in the air and snow caught on their eyelashes and tongues. If you live on the rain line, snowfall feels like a benediction, a sudden gift for good behavior. Snow falling on a Saturday? Too good to be believed.
The spouse remembers when it snowed in Brownsville, Texas, his hometown, for the first time in nearly 100 years. It happened on Christmas Eve, when the whole family was inside at midnight mass. After church, they came outside and saw a winter wonderland. And even though he had moved away to the northeast by then and was well-acquainted with proper snow, he danced excitedly around with his parents and grandparents just the same. The entire family drove to Grandma and Grandpa’s house to eat tamales and watch the snow fall. Years later, they still talk about that night with wonder.
Snow falling is the embodiment of Slow Christmas. It’s free, it’s magic, and it makes you want to listen to Bing Crosby. Somehow, when it’s snowing, everyone stops. If the first snow has yet to happen where you are, dear Slow Christmaser, promise me one thing. When it does, you’ll drop everything, go outside, and enjoy the moment.
We did, too! Sligo Creek park!