Sons of the South savor snowfall.
And alliteration? Absolutely!
Okay, enough of that.
Here in Charlotte, we received a small taste of the snow storm that’s been causing havoc in the midwest, the Pacific Northwest and all over the country, basically.
It’s causing havoc here, of course, but mostly because we see a snowflake and we freak the freak out. Seriously.
But enough of the whining.
No, seriously. Why are you all laughing so loudly?
Walking Buzz, The Garbage Disposal That Walks Like A Dog, last night after the first day of snowfall, I found myself feeling amazingly peaceful and happy.
Yes, it was an odd occurrence. And I traced it to the environment.
I was bundled up like I was three and my mom was about to send me outside in the cold by myself for the first time. I could barely bend my elbows I was so layered. (Look, I was born and raised in the South and this is as far north as I’ve ever lived. Sue me.)
Anyway, that wasn’t it. It wasn’t the cold. It was, I came to realize, the snow.
I’d always thought it was a cliché, not based in fact, that snowfall quiets everything down once its settled. But, by golly, it’s certainly true here.
We walked in the night and couldn’t hear anything but the sound of dog tags jangling together as Buzz, The Garbage Disposal That Walks Like A Dog, continued to bite the snow, freak out, levitate while doing a 360-degree spin, land, repeat.
Eventually, he tired out and we were back to only walking. The sound of my boots squelching in the snow. . . That was the loudest sound of the evening.
Add that to the level of light in the dark and it was a magical evening.
The level of the light is my malformed and horrifyingly clumsy way of talking about the high albedo of snow-covered ground and trees. The white snow reflects back so much more light than does the ground or tree branches.
Because it’s able to reflect more light, it looks like the night is that much brighter, as if there were two light sources. As above, so below. If you will.
Even after the sun set, I could see the gray clouds, hovering above the white-draped tree branches, white over brown, arching across the new-fallen snow covering the hibernating grass in the fields.
It was a beautiful sight.
My wife, known to me as She Who Must Be Getting Cabin Fever Already, today asked me why I’m always so excited about snow. She’s not. This is the second week in a month where she’s only able to work less than three days because of the snow. Which means we’re going to have less money in the weeks ahead.
But still I love the snow. I guess it’s because I never stopped being a young dude, even deep down in my withered, blackened, cynical wasteland of a heart. Yeah, we’ll have to pay for the snow days later in the school year, but seeing that snow, experiencing the brand-new sensations in its immediate aftermath. . . It’s worth it.
I’m glad I live here in the South where snowfall is a rarity. That way, I won’t get used to it. It will remain special, something to celebrate.
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