Snow.

I always hated winter in Minnesota. The first snowfall is beautiful, blanketing the town, suffocating the earth. Muffling the sounds of human interference. But then it got colder, the snow turned ugly colors as people traversed in it, on it, around it. Then it became a burden, less beautiful. Less magical.

But snow was this symbol of home, the only home I had ever known. Nomadic growing up, I reveled at the idea of growing roots. Morris became that home to me. And snow in Morris was something to wonder at. It even tasted better.

My first full winter away from Morris, down here where snow is a legendary myth told to scare kids into being good drivers, and I miss snow like crazy. Not the cold or the inconvenience of it. But the beauty of first snowfall. The wonder of nature. The quiet and hush as the world holds its breath. It snowed for the first time today. It is just a light powder, patchy and temporary. The puppies play outside, one who had never seen snow before, and come in covered in a soft dew for the their efforts.

And, just for a little white until it melts, its like I'm home again.