It’s the day before Thanksgiving and all through the compound, nothing is stirring, not even a hound. Remember last year? There was snow on the ground. See outside today? Only the grass makes a sound.
Reading everyone’s posts on facebook about how much snow everyone got was too much. See, if I read about snowball fights and people complaining because they don’t like snow, while, I’m *ahem!* sitting there sweating, I’m liable to make my own moisture. While my fingers cool off from the “rain” I let fall, I can only let the yearnings in my heart grow.
My heart yearns… for home.
Trouble is, where is home? It’s where my heart is. Right now, I can be out playing in the Mt. Hood-ish snow. If I let my “heart guide” me, as Disney likes to tell us, I’m freezing in the wintery snow of the mountains. If I just daydream hard enough, I can throw a snowball at my brother. If I close my eyes tight enough, I can see the warm glow the fire should make.
yep. There’s definitely no other word for it. I’m snowsick.
Snow comes running, yet she’s not cold. She’s not even wet. She’s my cat. Try as I may, there’s no describing snow. Not my cat, the wonderful thing only those of us who have ventured to cold places know. There’s no comprehendible way to tell someone the feeling you get when you walk through it. No way to explain the fun of snowball fights.
Thanksgiving should never be without snow. At least, not for one little Oregonian girl that sits daydreaming in world that never sees the beauty of snow.