We got our first snow the other day, and even though I’m mature and wise now I still get really excited about the first snow of the season. I sat on the bus watching the flakes coming down around us. It was starting to get dark out already and in the light of the streetlight it looked as though we were being showered with fairy dust. (Lame, I know. So sue me.)
Apparently, not everyone shares my enthusiasm. The next morning on the bus I heard some teenaged girls talking about how much they HATE the snow; “It’s like all WHITE and disgusting.” I tried to block them out, but they went on and on about it. Of course, when you’re that age that’s pretty much the extent of your worries – that and homework and boys, so I suppose I shouldn’t have been too surprised or disappointed.
Anyway, my faith was restored later that same morning. There’s a petite young mom that brings her two little boys onto the train every morning. They must be five and seven or so and they still get excited about snow, too. As they gazed out the window at the glistening white fields contrasted by dark streets I heard one of them exclaim about how wet and shiny everything is. I love little boys! (Then one of them said, “Right mom?” and I almost lost it, but that’s another story.)