Snow angels

I am 1000 miles north of my home right now with my youngest daughter. I am visiting dear friends. A long time ago, Southwest ran a deal for really cheap flights. On that day, I randomly selected this weekend and the child not in school and bought tickets. I didn’t know then that it was Martin Luther King weekend. I certainly didn’t know it’d be snowing here.

That is icing on the cake.
Literally.
Well, not literally.
Metaphorically.
If the Kentucky town is the cake and the snow is the icing.

When we first walked outside into the Nashville terminal, the cold was nipping at us through the breeze and the drizzle. Two hours later it was biting us with fangs through the wind and snow.

I’m pretty sure Michigan would kill me, but I love this.

I was exhausted when I finally laid down last night next to my sleeping angel. A thin blanket of snow was draped across the blades of grass. The grass was reluctant to give up and never did. When I awakened this morning, that blanket was thicker, but still hadn’t erased the signs of grass and shrubs in the neighborhood. Even so, it was enough for me and I played out in it for maybe an hour.

When I came in, I amputated my own hands.

I didn’t really, but they weren’t working right anymore. It was 24 degrees.  And still, I love it. Maybe I wouldn’t love it if it were an extended 5 month shroud of gray and cold, but for a weekend, it rocks.