Part II of the series "Snow falling from cedars I & II - From the poetic to the prosaic.
(ISBN: 978-0-9919415-4-4)

Until now, I've never had my "own" snow. I'd only ever seen snow in Europe, when we were on holiday. I used to go outside and do things that made people laugh at me - like catching snowflakes on my tongue, making snowballs, traipsing about in heavy falls, and just gawking at the sky.

This winter, for the first time in my life, we had our own snow, in our own back yard, up our own back road, on the streets of our own neighbourhood. I literally waited up the night snow was predicted, and fell asleep like a kid before Christmas morning, dreaming of waking up when the world was white. When the light reflected off the snow banks outside woke me at about half past three the next morning, I was out of bed in a flash, and outside with my camera, walking about in pristine snow, in the pitch dark, with not a soul or a footprint in sight.

Just because it was suddenly familiar, it was no less magical. I'm still gawking.