It was dusk; the five of us were gathered in the open kitchen and living area of our house, all in various stages of writing, cooking, video gaming, and sibling bugging. Momentarily, I looked up from my computer and caught a glimpse of the drama unfolding.
“It’s actually snowing on the beach!” I called out, in reference to an earlier rumor of snow that I had dismissed as unlikely, and we all hurried to the window.
Sure enough, the flakes were indeed falling.
After it grew dark, however, we gave up on expecting any accumulation, as the snow seemed light and appeared to melt on contact with any surface.
Imagine our surprise, then, to wake up the next morning to this,
and even this.
By Northern standards, it’d be hardly worth noting, as by late morning all the oceanside snow was gone.
But my children are Southerners (albeit ones spawned by Yankees), so they got their fix, mashing their hands in it just for its feel,
and dreaming about the next time when enough might fall to make a sandman covered with snow.