Some would call this snow

It began as heavy clumps, a thud with a different tone on my windshield. Beyond, the air began to swarm with white, something unseen in Spartanburg in two years. Some would call this snow, I thought, still hesitant to get excited about something that would likely melt on impact, be snow in name but not in its effect on the environment.

By the time I walked into Target and saw a cluster of happy faces, a few claps and squeals at the entrance, and looked back out through the wall of windows, it was snowing in earnest, quickly collecting on cars and grassy medians. People were coming from the far corners of the store to watch, they were calling their families in awe of the sight, they were rushing their kids to the check-out with excited ideas of snowmen and angels. It was wonderful, and it filled me up with gratitude both for my personal history of and affection for snow in Kansas and for the lack of it here that creates a magical aura of wonder. Snow is a gift, everyone agreed.

I was grateful to be in a public place when it started so I could experience others' wonder, too. And then I went home to usher Scooter out into the white, to tell him "Remember Kansas? You loved this!" And he did. He ran, he rooted his nose in the cold, he allowed the wet to collect on his back.

I didn't know how long it was going to last, and knowing that this is likely my last Southern snowfall, we stayed out in it and walked down to the lake. Trees hung heavy, unused to the additional weight, and dropped snowballs on us as we walked, as if they wanted to play. Silence except for these falls.

Halfway through the walk, my feet stinging and soaked through boots I thought would be waterproof, I saw the sun emerging in the north. Just two brief hours of snow, and then back to reality. Angles of light cut through the bare trees. The magic would end, but the remnants would remain, if only for the day.

Gratitude. For my dear friends here who texted their excitement for snow. For children's first experience with all that's cold and bright. For Phillip far away and our future plans for sledding, our future winters and summers and falls and springs. For that which can happen suddenly and naturally and wonderfully and change your entire mood to gratitude and joy.