White Rain

I have read that any sort of change in a working environment makes people more productive. Even if the change is perceived to be negative. Humans need change, as much as we need routine. The same thing day after day after day after day -- you understand, it gets boring.
I saw the look of awe on the face of a three year old; the first snow, speechless, shining beaming. It was enough for her to just walk in the snow, hear the crunch under foot, feel the drag of wet snow on the toes of her green boots. The snowball fights and snowman making will come later.
I saw a lone snowgoose flying at dusk, white feathers on snow-gray clouds. I saw my own tracks, where I had been an hour ago and where others walked. In a real heavy snow, the streets are owned by kids and the young at heart. Cars stay home. Delight comes out and sleds and slides down white-clad hills. Cold hands and cheeks ignored, the first sting of warm air on noses when coming into a warm house. Hot cocoa and a change of clothes, looking out a window at sentinel snowmen and the magic of the diamond glitter that snow crystals reflect.
The quiet of the night; snow swallows all noise. Bent-over trees and bushes stoically shoulder the piling snow. Stop signs and street signs whited-out by snow that precariously clings to vertical surfaces. Every little limb stands out and carries it's share of white. At the tips, crystal globes of frozen water drops.