Houston came to a halt last week. It snowed. Not only did it snow earlier than it ever has, and we seldom get snow, but it snowed all day. Amazing. Children ran out of schoolrooms, and teachers ran with them. People walked outside of offices. There was glee and excitement everywhere. Our airports had to delay flights. I doubt they own a de-icer. A friend of mine coming in from Minnesota, where winter is ice and snow, had her plane delayed for our weather. She came in late, looked around, and said, What snow? Of course, by then, it had melted. Her amusement at our delight and confusion–the news people warning us to stay indoors because of the freezing and icy streets, evening events cancelled–doesn’t bother me. It was a magical day, the swirling flakes of snow kissing my face and Houston’s. My grandchildren were beside themselves with elaborate plans involving gloves and snowballs. We were all children for a day, from overexcited weather forecasters to the man or woman in the streets. Delighted children. And it was great.
(Photo courtesy of Ann Bradford. Sculpture by artist Mark Bradford)