Sunday Memories of Winter

dying Brooklyn snowman

photo by E.M. Smith

Snow days used to be fun.  The only thing going 40 miles an hour was a car on some highway, and school was closed because secretly the Board of Ed wanted to say home too.

As the inches piled up and covered the tidy squares of grass no one was never EVER allowed to touch, let alone walk on, every kid on the Lower East Side raced downstairs.  It was the only time we were allowed to step onto that carefully kept piece of nature.

We hooted and hollered, jumped and leaped and rolled and got wet and cold, and then rushed into a lobby to throw our mittens on the radiator to dry up enough so we could rush out again for such a rare day, the smell of steaming wool trailing us

Except for all our happy I-don't-gotta-go-to-school joy on a rare day, all around us the city felt like a lullaby.  Soft and quiet and peaceful. 

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