I cheer for the few little flakes—
small clumps, actually, that fall ever so slowly on bare grass.
Like the lightest small feathers shaken loose.
Last week's dusting of snow is already gone, the yard soft and muddy from yesterday's hint of spring. And, though part of me waits eagerly for longer, fragrant days and the life that erupts madly with the first warm, spring rain, I’m always sad to see it go.
Snow holds so many precious memories--
of little angels.
Last week's snow
on gravel drive