I'm sitting in my office watching the steel gray sky spit little bits of snow. I keep repeating "snow, snow, snow!" I want big fat flakes and at least six inches on the ground. Does that sound nuts?
Actually Christmas snow is magical, especially if you don't have to drive around in it. Of course, I grew up in Lake Tahoe, where it wasn't unusual to get five feet in one snow storm. I love it when the dreary bland ground is covered in a blanket of soft puffy white--it's dazzling. And it's the height of contentment to sit by the window, watching the dancing snowflakes, and sipping a warm cup of hot chocolate.
Many of my friends, who live in warmer climes, don't understand the fascination, but I guarantee that they would be mesmerised by the magic of diamond ice crystals glittering the dark night. We all become children with Christmas snow.
Snow, snow, snow!
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