Childhood Memories, Personal

Snow

The magic and romance in the first snow of the season.

Well, it came this morning as my students were arriving to class. One of the mothers pointed it out to us, because we hadn’t noticed.

Big, fluffy flakes dropped from the sky. The air had been so crisp and cold on my walk along the river this morning and the weather man had been calling for snow; we were all waiting for it to happen. I stared out at it and lost myseflf in memories for a few moments.

Childhood.

I loved waking up in the morning with a nudge from my mom, “Kara, it’s time to get up for school.” Not wanting to, pulling the covers over my head, she would pull them back and whisper, “quick*, go look out the window.” I would throw my feet over the edge of the bed and clamour to the window at the front of the house. The earth had was silent, warm and cozy beneath it’s new white blanket. Sometimes the flakes would still be falling, other times, the wind would scamper across the top of the blanket and scatter snow dust across the yard. Anyway it happened, it was magical. My younger brothers and I put on our hats, scarves, snowpants (ugh, remember those?) and mittens and stamped our way through the white power down the road to catch the bus. We didn’t mind the walk because it was the first snow.

“Kara. Kara. How do you make a snowflake? I want to make a snowflake.” I’m jolted from my memory by a six year old with scissors and white paper standing before me. Right. I’m not six anymore, he is. So I walk over and show him, exactly the way my mom showed me, all those years ago.

*This is not a typo, I just can’t type a capital q on my keyboard since the coffee incident. Just so you know.

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