But sometimes, the wonder is in the waking.
To wake to snow is always magic. In Savannah, a city known for balmy summer's spent by the sea, beneath bearded oaks or in cafes to avoid the 100*F heat index, it's a true wonder.
History tells it's been almost thirty years since The Hostess City has seen this much snow. To be here, after only three years, to see it. To wander in it.
Humbling, pure joy.
First came the ice, in pellets that bounced about the courtyard and gathered in gutters and in leaf beds.
I decided the best place to be was by the radiator with cup of tea and a stack of books. I'm off anyway Wednesdays; the snow was kind to afford me that courtesy. The stress of wondering takes away the pleasure of hibernating.
My husband rode his bike into work. It's only a mile and a half. I was up with him, brewing the first of many cups of coconut Oolong. About two hours into the morning, a text urged me, "Go look outside."
While I sat stitching, the sleet turned to flurries and I - having to find a dry coat and dry gloves after my earlier foray into the frozen stuff - stuffed my double socked feet into my Wellies and wandered to the end of the lane.
The snow was drifting and I was delighted. The oranges and kumquats and drip over our neighbor's fence were already showing icicles.
It was just a dusting, though, so back to warmth I went.
Obligatory Palm-Trees-in-the-Snow Shot
That's my husband's coat. I seriously need to up my snow-gear game!
Look over my shoulder, to the right. Those are kumquats, kids!
We took out a ruler and it read "1 1/2 inches"
For a city that usually sits at 50* on a "cold" day, THAT is tremendous!
Sure, I could have built a bigger snowman, but this little Hippie Savannah Snowman
seemed to best embody the quirk of our freak, southern snow storm.
Jon came home early, walking because biking was too dangerous. The parks he passed were draped in snow. The city was clothed in angel dust and everyone you met was smiling. Everyone was out in it! Dogs and kids and people clutching cups of coffee. Snowballs stuck to gloved fingers and metal sheds without melting. We lumbered about then whooshed back to warmth while the cats admonished us from the sofa, "Ain't no WAY we want any part of THAT!"
Disclaimer: Hilde, the cat in the front, didn't want anything to do with the snow.
Mina, on the other hand, wandered out in it and scampered about for a while.
She does have extra toes. We assumed they served as built in mittens.
Night fell and brought more enchantment. The full moon just two days gone, lit glittering silver and we crunched our way six blocks to the park. My cloak dragged the ground and billowed, Snape-like, as the wind caught and played and chilled, reminding us of the dangers of frostbite.
A friend mentioned that picture would make a great dark-metal album cover.
Perhaps I have a change of career coming this year?
Streetlights were orbs and branches woven from glass. Steam rose from the drains and our noses froze without a breeze.
It's was still cold on Thursday and I didn't go to work. The lane was frozen solid and our neighborhood streets are shaded. I slid to the nearest stop sign in boots and decided I'd rather take my chances with more tea and I thankfully work for wonderful people who'd rather their employees remain safe than risk life and limb to show up to work on an ice-ridden morning.
Wednesday and Thursday looked a lot like this, an ideal for sure, and one I'm working on daily:
Some of you know I sew. I do hand embroidery and make patchwork. I did a 100 Days of Stitching project on my Instagram that ended in December and I'm excited to start some new designs and see where the New Year leads in that regard.
There's a novel and a short story sitting on my hard drive. They'll get edits soon, after they simmer a bit and I'm satisfied that I'm far enough removed from them I can edit objectively.
For now, I'm going to dream, sketch and stitch, and wonder where my other characters got off to. I'm pretty sure they're lost out there, somewhere, in the snow.
Stay warm, Dear Readers!
The uncurtained light fanned from the windows. It was barely dark, and at the turning of the year; the starved and wintry landscape lay under snow, like a beggar dying in a kingly gown. Dark and silence and the soft oblivion of snow, the pure and primal earth: as if with her wavering candle, [she] began the world.
~ Greer Ilene Gilman,