The first flakes of snow fell today.
They were delicate at first and falling from a blue sky. My children and I wondered at where they were coming from.
As night crept in the flakes became fiercer, as though now under the mask of darkness they could show their true power.
The night turned black with flashes of blizzard flying snow.
The grass fell victim to some of the crystals, but the warm earth quickly dispatched the weak flakes when they touched down.
The sadness of the first snow is this: I was too busy rushing from here to there to anywhere and nowhere, that I missed savoring the first snow of winter.
What has become of me that I missed the first snow?
Hopefully when the first "real" snow comes, I will be able to stop whatever I am doing and relish in the new snow: Walk through it in warm snow boots; look into the sky and watch the falling flakes like falling stars; shovel the walk and hear the crunch of ice; then curl up in a window with a good book and a warm blanket and watch the snow from the warmth of home.