And every fall there's a day when I look and it's there, a dusting of snow stuck to the grass, with more falling through the lamplight. I love that day. I feel it ought to be a special little holiday, with muffins and rejoicing.
It's today, and I was too hungry to make muffins and wait for them to be baked and cooled enough to pull the papers off, so I didn't. But I keep looking over my shoulder out the window at the trees coated with snow, the porch roof coated with snow, the snow snow snow.
It sounds like it'll melt off before anyone has to shovel it, but while it's here I enjoy it so much. And there will be chili and cornbread for dinner, and we will mostly stay inside where it is warm and smells nice, where we can read and play cribbage and practice the piano and watch movies and light candles because it is that day, and sometimes we will open the door and smell snow.
