I'm not talking about people here though.
When I grew up in sunny Arizona,
and the rain would finally fall to the dry earth,
we would all bound outside to dance and splash in the puddles,
where we'd usually meet a few neighbors outside, too
all soaking up the rain.
The rain was a precious thing
and it made us happy when it came.
We had known the sun for so long.
I distinctly remember the first time I saw it snowing,
really snowing,
where it was falling, sticking and piling on the ground.
It was magic sprinkled all over our house in Utah.
But then after the first year in Utah,
I began to strongly dislike the snow.
It was so cold, so much, and stayed way too long
for my liking.
I thought I would never want it to snow again.
Washington life has been a lot of rainy, gray days.
Whenever the sun is shining,
we've gotten into the habit of
stopping whatever we're doing and we head outside
to the park, to the trampoline, to our bikes
anywhere where the sun will kiss our skin
and the day seems brighter.
Relief from a drab day came last night too.
Around 10:00pm.
In the form of snow.
The white that blanketed our neighborhood
brightened our street
and the snow regained its magicalness.
I couldn't resist it.
I dragged E outside with me,
not even bothering with my big coat and gloves.
Too bad the boys were sound asleep.
I was tempted to wake them up to come play, too.
We left our footprints in the fresh snow
and a few snowballs went flying.
And may have even smashed into my face.
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