Snow Day

13:20 EST, 07 April 2003

Today is the reason I love the East coast. I woke to a flat white sky. A sky with no texture at all, as if God had forgotten to paint that part of the canvas. Since noon, it has been snowing, like confectioner's sugar sifted from on high, falling lazily but steadily. Suddenly, every small branch, each tiny fallen leaf on the ground, each crevice in the stone walls, each individual slate on my roof are all precisely outlined by a thin white coating of snow, making the most intricate shapes stand out like an eye rimmed with white eyeliner.

Molly and I went out to play fetch in the magicworld outside. My eyelids grew heavy when little snowflakes caught in my lashes. Molly's brown coat was soon dusted like a Frosted Mini-Wheat. I stood, rosy-cheeked, throwing the tennis ball down the street again and again, Molly sprinting headlong after it and leaving dark streaks in the snow coating the street as she skidded, decelerating to catch the ball. Soon, some larger flakes began to appear, as if the sifter in the sky was doing a poor job, letting some chunks through. Molly and I, invigorated and grinning, raced each other inside to warm our ears together, sitting by the window to watch the world turn white.

Today was a snow day. All NYC airports closed, all flights cancelled. Los Angeles will have to wait; I'm having a bit too much fun over here. How can a year of perpetual sunshine even compete with the glory of just one day like this one?