Magical

It snowed today. Some news, huh? After all, it is January. But it doesn't snow everywhere in January. Indeed, there are many places that rarely, if ever, experience snow. Portland is a real low snow place, or at least has been for the 12+ years we've lived here. Having come from Michigan, which is a very high snow place, I've gotten used to very mild winters. Snow is where you go to if you are so inclined. In Portland it rarely comes to you.

Yesterday I left the house early to meet a friend for breakfast. I had heard reports of possible snowfall, but there was none when I got up. As I walked outdoors my first thought was that the temperature didn't feel too cold. My second thought, as I inhaled the fresh early morning air, was a flashback to a long dormant memory from my Michigan years: It smells like snow in the air.

At that moment, I felt a bit of cold wet on the back of my neck. I glanced into the sky, up past the streetlight, and saw gently falling flakes, floating mesmerizingly down. It didn't last. But that brief moment of olfactory memory showed how deeply etched are the fondnesses of the past from a place once called home.