It snowed a little on Sunday night.

My little three year old was quite taken with it. He stood at the foot of the stairs for a good long while, his nose pressed in the pane of the sidelight, and watched the last fat flakes float by. He turned as his big brother walked by, and said: Mioose! Noh! He said it as if he was giving his brother the combination to a safe filled with gold bars.

Snow divvies up the world according to taste and need. My neighbor will work sanding the road, an his wife will be slightly more happy then usual with the money it brings in. Like farmers who get rain after a long dry spell. He’ll be sleepy. My older boy will stand at the foot of the drive, waiting for the bus in a precise spot, sheltered by the tall pines. It’s the only time I can see him without fail from window of my office when he’s out there, because he doesn’t move around. I avoid listening to the radio on such mornings because everybody acts as if it’s lava or dead monster souls falling from the sky, barking out information with an undertone of panic. I’ve heard radio broadcasts recorded during the Blitz in London circa WWII where the announcers sound calmer than weathermen in New England, all over a half-inch of snow. People still hoard bread and milk every time it snows. What are we? Pioneers? Calm down.

I used to drive a lot, and fly often, and I was attuned to the weather as closely as any subsistence farmer ever was. Now I’m close to home almost always, and the inconveniences of snow are diminished. I never buy wood when it’s snowing if I can avoid it, as the water is never good for the boards. That’s about it. It’s pleasant to remember that I’m warm and dry when I’m working and there’s snow on the ground. This was not always the case. It’s hard to build things outdoors in the winter. I don’t miss it.

The little one shoveled the back porch with his mother, sliding the big shovel across the length of it and shouting: Bye Bye noh! each time as the little bit of snow fell off the edge. I can’t recall how long it’s been since I’ve shared his delight in seeing something come and see it go too, as he does.

Let it come. It will go.