I love the snow.
The big flaky kind that lazily float down and land on your nose like a wet kiss.
Watching snow fall over conifer trees conjures up for me chapters from Laura Ingalls Wilder’s “Little House in the Big Woods” — a childhood favorite of mine read in the heat and humidity of a tropical island.
It is a good thing my Lovely Bride grew up in Connecticut and has fond memories of falling snow as well.
I told her Sunday morning “it sure feels like it will snow today.” The weather geeks had forecasted as much.
The weight of the air had a familiar bite.
Snow was coming.
The Goofy Golden Doodle’s glee was palpable as the first flake hit our deck. she knew it was time to play. My Lovely Bride grabs her phone to snap a shot. Our white Christmas finally arrived, albeit a little over a week late.
We all enjoyed the falling snow along the banks of Drayton Passage. A cruiser slowly made its way up the foggy waterway. A red tailed hawk soared across our high bank.
“This is perfect,” my Lovely Bride said. “How exciting.”
Indeed my dear.
Good morning Longbranch.