With twinkling eyes, I watched my heart's desire get on his bicycle and ride away in the lightly falling snow. Snow is in my bones the way family is in my blood. But snow is not real snow until the ground freezes solid, usually in December. Snow that falls on damp ground melts within days or hours, forming a gray slush in the streets and a muddy slush in the yards. In Georgia, where I live now, that is about as good as snow gets.
Real snow is different.
First, the protective blanket of clouds is sheared away by arctic air beating down from Canada, blasting to the stars the last wisps of warmth hidden in the ground. Then the snow clouds begin to layer themselves, steel blue on blue gray, from horizon to horizon. They may roll in for days, slowly, before they unbale their white harvest. Snowfall at night is transcendent. Neither stars nor moon are visible, yet the world glows.