Two days out, they said it was looking more promising. Maybe an inch or two, if we were lucky.
One day out, and one meteorologist was going big with a chance of eight inches.
I woke up before the alarm on Sunday to a clap of thunder for the second time this season. Thunder always surprises me in winter; I associate that sound with the hot, steamy days of summer. But there was no mistaking the boom, and the following deluge of rain. Ah, well, wintry mix it is, I guessed.
Then it happened. Halfway through "CBS Sunday Morning", I noticed the sound of rain had stopped. I turned to the window to see big, fat white flakes falling outside. Melting as soon as they hit the drenched ground. Still skeptical, I turned back toward the television.
The snow kept falling...and falling. Soon it WAS sticking. When it stopped at five pm, we had a beautiful four inches of the white stuff blanketing our backyard. For a few hours there was no pandemic, no politics...just the silent snow falling, the hush it brought to the landscape, the sight of children building snowmen in the park.