Snowstorms.

During snowstorms at our home in New Jersey, my mother would, once evening was upon us and the snowy grey skies turned dark, occasionally turn on the spotlight that shined into our front yard.  It was in front of that bright light that we could tell how much and how fast the snowflakes were falling, how much snow might be accumulating on our lawn.  My mother would stand on the dark hardwood in our foyer, her hand resting over the light switch, while my brother and I both peered out of the side glass window panes that surrounded our front door, our hands cupped around our eyes, faces pressed directly to the glass, straining our eyes in the darkness to see the snow.  "It's really coming down!" Mom would say, before flipping the switch back off and turning back toward the kitchen.  My brother and I would stay together in the dark hall a minute longer, crossing our fingers and our toes with hopes for a snow day; a day when all of us were hunkered down together, in our quiet little house buried deep within the Pine Barrens.

Now, rather than a spotlight I control myself from a hallway switch, I use a city streetlight to monitor the snow during a storm.  One of my bedroom windows faces out onto the street on which I live.  In the very right corner of this window I can watch "my" street light, studying the snow as it twists, swirls, and billows its way down to the ground, monitoring how much is accumulating three stories below.   

Depending on when this blizzard winds down, we will all have a lot of clean up to deal with; cars to shovel out and icy roads to navigate.  The kids will head back to school, adults back to our offices.  But for now, that's all in the distant future.  Because tonight, is the night before a snow day.  And no matter how old you are, the night before a snow day will forever rank as a top ten feeling. 

Snow storms are different for adults.  We're the ones who have to dig out our cars and shovel our sidewalks and worry about power outages.  We deal with schedules that have had to be adjusted because of cancellations.  I don't envision myself putting on a snowsuit tomorrow with the intent of making snow angels or building snowmen. 

Still.

I sit here now, a cup of tea in my hand, staring out my front window, watching the snow whip 'round as if I lived in a snow globe and I feel the same thrill of excitement that I used to as a child.   
On the night a storm starts, I think about making those snow angels again. 

I imagine we all do.