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</o:shapelayout></xml><![endif]--></head><body lang=EN-US link="#0563C1" vlink="#954F72"><div class=WordSection1><p class=MsoNormal>Seeing Snow for the First Time<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Marcia J. Wick, The Write Sisters<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>June 2019<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Word Count: 564<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>A blizzard in late spring is not that unusual where we live - 6,000 feet above sea level in the foothills of the Colorado Rockies. This year, winter had been mostly moderate with sunshine and light snowfall, until March when spring roared in like a lion. Doplar radar watchers warned that a “cyclone bomb” was headed our way from the west coast where it had caused dangerous flooding. Schools, government offices, and employers announced closures the night before the anticipated storm, even though skies were blue and temperatures were still in the 50s.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Forecasting the weather in Colorado is no simple feat. “If you don’t like the weather, just wait 10 minutes and it will change,” locals are fond of saying. Early prediction of the unusual cyclone bomb, however, proved accurate. In the morning, we were slammed with high winds, freezing rain, drifting snow, and white-out conditions.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>In April, when weather prognosticators warned of another spring blizzard, the city hunkered down again. Cancellations and early dismissals were called early in the morning although the sun was shining, temperatures were in the 60s, and the roads were clear. I hurried to my father’s house, throwing a change of clothes at the last minute into my back pack, unsure if I’d get stranded once there and be forced to spend the night.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Halfway through the day, the ominous forecast still waited in the wings as the audience grew restless for its appearance. Settling opposite my dad at the table, me with my lunch and him with his breakfast, He flipped the pages of the newspaper, his favorite preoccupation, and happens upon the blizzard warning.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“Rain and snow, temperatures dropping into the 20s,” he glanced out the window, perplexed at the sunny scene.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>At 2:00, still under sunny skies, Dad’s caregiver departed to pick up her sister who was being released early from work to “beat the storm.” I thought perhaps this time the weather gurus might have gotten it wrong. Settling Dad into his easy chair for some late afternoon television, I glanced out the living room window as the clouds burst. Fat raindrops transformed into fluffy snowflakes mid-flight, turning the springtime scene into an avalanche of winter. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“Look at that! What is that?” my Dad asked.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“It’s snowing after all,” I said, amazed myself at the sudden turn in seasons.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Dad gaped at the falling flakes, as if seeing snow for the first time in his 94-year-long life. No stranger to snow, my father skied the powder slopes of Colorado for six decades, climbed more than 30 mountains above 14,000 feet where snow remained year round, camped in winter snow caves, and climbed Pikes Peak in a blizzard on New Year’s Eve to help shoot off fireworks from the summit. Still, my slow-moving father jumped out of his chair like a four-year-old boy seeing snow for the first time.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“Look at it, look at it! It’s everywhere, all around,” he twisted his bald head back and forth as I fought to catch his flailing arms into his coat sleeves. Coatless myself, I chased Dad out the door onto the deck where he continued to stare at the scene. As if the clouds were having a pillow fight, the sky was flooded with white balls of cotton.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Giggling like a four-year-old girl, I stuck out my tongue as if tasting snow for the first time, too.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal># # #<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p></div></body></html>