Winter weather is an event in North Carolina. A raid the grocery store, cancel school for a week, stuff the fireplace with wood, play all day outside kind of event. It’s rare, and worth celebrating, like a rainstorm that ends a drought.
At six am this morning, I was out with my son Elliot having a snowball fight. I caught a flying snowball that burst in my glove and scattered down my sleeve. This was just the right kind of snow. Heavy without being slush, deep and fresh. Breathing in the moist cold air through my nostrils brought me home. To catch a flying snowball in the morning and hike through the woods to the pipeline for sledding, these hours of cold that pink our cheeks, this day, a gift.