In which there are soft memories of first snows.

After an abnormally warm Christmas season, a cold spell hit this week that sent everyone scrambling for their warm woolies. First it was just cold, then we got a dusting of snow, then a real blanket on Thursday night, powdery feathers falling fast. Walking on the empty streets with muffled feet and everywhere silent flurries spinning, swirling, brought back memories of other walks in fresh snows. Nostalgia got me looking through old photos and I got stuck on a few particularly happy moments -- traipsing through the woods with Mom and Ber in Maine, icy walks to the lake with the dogs, enchanted hikes in New Mexico, quiet times by myself in Freiburg, Nürnberg, Salzburg, and a life-affirming moment atop the Zugspitze. Weeks of snow and ice in Hamburg, leading to a frozen lake and stories to pass on for years, telling of thousands upon thousands of revellers walking on water. A twinkling twilight.

I fell asleep on Thursday with the snow falling heavily outside, was aware in the wee hours of hard rain on the window, and was roused by the alarm clock on Friday in a dark world of salty slush. The last of the snow is now huddled in icy clumps on the roadside, hanging on for dear life and cloaked in brown, gray, or yellow depending on recent visitors. Am hoping for more, but until then, here's to remembering.