How I Wish That It Would Snow

We don't get much snow where I live.  Occasionally we get a light dusting... every few years we get something big enough to play in...  Needless to say, snow is not a part of our winter lives.

I miss snow.  My in-laws used to live in the New England area, and our yearly winter trek up their way always involved snow.  Our little ones would play in it.  We would go skiing.  We would walk around and see the lovely New England landscape covered in a blanket of white.  It was glorious, and worth every bit of the trouble of finding waterproof boots and gloves for kids of four different sizes year after year.

But many years ago now, they moved down South, too, and our yearly Massachusetts trek has ended.  We've made it a couple of snow-filled times all the way to Vermont, but it is difficult in winter since my husband and I can't stay outside in a tent.  (Yes, we usually sleep in a tent for our Vermont visits since I'm allergic to the cats that lived so many years in his aunt's home!)

I miss snow.  I'm sure those friends who live with it all winter--and have to shovel and salt and dry out their worlds every day for months--are not loving it, but I do, and I wish we would get some.

So that's why I was so thrilled to discover the artifically-produced-but-still-real-deal snow that they had at Christmas Town this year at Busch Gardens Williamsburg.  (More on Christmas Town later, on another day!)  Right there in the middle of beautifully illuminated France, complete with lights set perfectly to reflect the dancing flakes coming down.  It was beautiful.  Magical.

So, there you have it.  I'm desperate enough for some snow to love the manipulated, manufactured stuff falling so light and lovely in the French village at the (also artificial) Old Country!

And so, I end with one of my favorite poems, "Velvet Shoes" by Elinor Wylie.

Let us walk in the white snow
           In a soundless space;
With footsteps quiet and slow;
           At a tranquil pace,
           Under veils of white lace.

I shall go shod in silk,
           And you in wool,
White as a white cow's milk,
           More beautiful
           Than the breast of a gull.

We shall walk through the still town
           In a windless peace;
We shall step upon white down,
           Upon silver fleece,
           Upon softer than these.

We shall walk in velvet shoes:
           Wherever we go
Silence will fall like dews
           On white silence below.
           We shall walk in the snow.