anti:freeze

All morning I thought it was raining. The gray, dreary light leaking between my window shades just felt wet. Imagine my surprise when I peeked outside and saw snow flakes. The best kind - fat and feathery, so big they don't even seem real. Like the ones inside a snowglobe. Or on a movie set.

I haven't seen snow in the city since I moved to Portland three years ago. There were flurries once while I was away, in Los Angeles. But here in the downtown, winter is all about rain. Snow always seems so far away, in the mountains, or on the hills.

When I moved away from Iowa, I thought I would never miss it. In the midwest, snow means long, achy walks through unshoveled drift on the sidewalks, winds so cold they freeze your eyelashes, burning lungs, pneumonia. There were mornings when I could snap my hair in two, like a twig, after a thin layer of ice formed around the shaft. Now, for the first time in my life, I understand why people long for snow. Why people write songs about white Christmases and dream about sleds. When I pulled back the shades, I gasped. My cheeks flushed pink with warmth, my shoulders relaxed. It looked like peace out there.

Well, it probably helps that it's not sticking. And that the temperature is 40 degrees.