For the past twenty-four hours, winter storm warnings have been flying around faster than snowflakes in a blizzard. The forecast inspired Anne to drive home last night instead of waiting until morning.
This morning, I peeked out the window, expecting a cloudy sky, a little wind, and a little snow to greet me. Instead, a bright sunrise blazed through the branches of the spruce trees in the back yard. Even now, three hours later, the sky is a clear winter blue and the tree branches are still, still, still.
But the forecasters promise a storm this afternoon, snow in the north part of the state, ice in the south, and a mixture of the two in the middle of the state where we live. I hope it waits until after noon when I visit my mentee over the lunch hour. We haven’t seen each other for three weeks, what with the West Virginia excursion, and I want to see her before Christmas and plan a time next week for us to bake treats for her family.
Then the storm can hit. We’ve got DVDs to watch, popcorn to pop, and five years of catching up to do around here. It’s not a storm warning at our house; it’s a blessing, one I intend to savor.
