A week ago, in the midst of days of rain, I wrote of wanting to see snow piled in the corners of the deck. Of wanting the snow, not the rain.
Today I woke and walked downstairs in the half-light of early dawn. Two tracks broke the blanket of snow in the street. The falling snow diffused the street lights.
This is the winter I longed for a week ago. Snow falling straight down, piling undisturbed on branches and fence tops.
Gordie bounced, wanting to bury his head in the fresh snow. We walked in the soft snow on the edge of the road reveling in the chill, in the change, in the arrival of winter.