Within and Without

Yesterday the mountain was icy blue, school was closed, kids were up early for a cup of hot chocolate, fingers itching to pack the first snowball. Do you remember that feeling-- even if you loved school-- that breath-held, if-only, can-it-be-true wait to find out if school was canceled? In this part of the South, it doesn't even happen every year, and when it does, most often for ice storms that slick the streets and leave us, power out, scurrying for candles and more polarfleece.

This was a real snowfall, by our standards. It began as darkness fell Wednesday night. We were at church, and I looked out of the 2s and 3s room to see Sam's class, noses pressed against the windows, erupt into squealing in the hallway, squinting up toward the streetlights to see the first flakes coming down.

It was still snowing at daybreak, for a little while before changing to rain, and we played outside early, to make the most of it. And the rest of the stay was spent inside in the warmth. I had the blessing of contrast-- we are planning our first "real" garden, so I could drown in pictures and descriptions of flowers and produce, or read the helps and hopes in this book, but glance up to see white lacy branches and the far red cardinal who stopped for a snack. A little bit between the now and the not yet.