Waiting for the First Snowfall

Waiting for the First Snowfall

 

Anticipation, eagerness, impatience–will it or won’t it? I gaze out at the dark morning, waiting for the first snowfall of the season.

The morning is dark and damp. Although I can’t see rain falling, it must be raining some, a fine mist, perhaps, because driveway, street, and deck are wet. The temperature is dropping and will continue to fall all day. Everything is ready, the stage is set, but as yet, I haven’t seen one single flake. 

Something moves through the morning, twirling toward the ground, blown by the wind. Is it a snow flake? No, just a leaf going about the business of deserting its tree.

Admittedly, not everyone is happy about snow. It causes travel problems, it’s cold and wet and sort of hems a person inside the house sometimes. At other times, we only wish we could be safe and snug inside, but we must be out in it, regardless. I have a theory about that. In nature, snow is a signal to animals to retreat into dens and caves and warm, safe places. Hopefully, they’ve used the fall months to store food and now is the time to enjoy it all and relax. But, of course, with people, life must go on. School, jobs, necessary travel–we just have to make the best of things. Nonetheless, the first snowfall, to me, is exciting. 

Between me and the dark bricks of my neighbor’s house, I see mist coming down. And, now, the wind is hushing, waiting too. Expectation is high for the first snowfall of the season.

Aha! Now, I see it. At first, it was mixed in with the rain but now I can actually see the white flakes, trying the incognito approach. Of course, it is melting as it falls, but who knows? It may transition into white flakes. A squirrel by the mailbox is trying to remember where he stored the acorns and decide whether he has enough packed away. I pour another cup of coffee and smile. I’ve seen the first snowflakes and they’ve arrived before Thanksgiving!

Winter Lullaby

by Blanche Day Manos

A cricket creaks its slumber song beside the fireplace glow. 

While posts and picket fence outside wear rounded mounds of snow.

The winter eve is etched in white, all softness, still and deep,

And, drowsy, watching falling flakes, the world drifts into sleep.


Manos Mysteries

 

 

Speak Your Mind

*