First snowfall

It's snowing outside. The forecast says that there might be 5 inches on the ground when I wake up tomorrow morning. I guess it's officially winter.

Even though I grew up in California, a childhood of vacations in skitowns guaranteed that I'd be more snow-savvy than most Golden Staters. That said, I remember the first time I experienced snow as a resident of a place where it snows like it was yesterday. I'd just moved to New York - I think I was on day five - and I was on one of my getting-to-know the city jaunts around town, getting myself lost to try to find my way home and learn my surroundings in the process. I was walking down Third Avenue, on the corner of 11th Street, when I noticed that flakes had begun falling. I was so excited that I called my parents, sacrificing a hand into the frigid air because I needed to express the beauty of living in a place where it snowed to people who might understand why it felt so amazing. I remember speaking excitedly to them, glancing around and marveling at how lucky I was.

Now that I'm bitter and jaded, and snowfall makes me grumble and huddle deeper into my coat, it's good to remember the purity of that moment. Maybe winter isn't so bad after all. Anyone for a snowball fight?