There was a single epic snowfall when I was a child. It couldn’t have been more than an inch, two at the most, but I was ecstatic. When you grow up in the South, even an inch of snow is miraculous. I spent the afternoon scraping snow into the best facsimile of a snowman I could make. He was little more than a mound, but he had a carrot nose and a ribbon for a scarf. I went north for college; the first snowfall my roommates showed me how to make a snow angel.
It’s still a thrill to fall back into a flawless blanket of snow, windmill my arms and legs and bring to earth an imagined heavenly being. I love lying cold-warm within my angel’s outline, blue sky above me, tree branches limned in white. I inhale winter and exhale joy. Winter will never be my favorite season, but making snow angels is grand compensation.
Photo courtesy of Martin Darvick, my fellow Kid @ Heart