Snow

It never snows in the city. In the parts of the world where there aren't an excess of humans in towers blazing steam everywhere, it actually does, and it falls hard, beautiful and deep. However, I live in the city, and snow is as valuable as in california or florida. Never happens, and when it does, you scream. Thrilling, it is. When you walk outside and you see those flaky things floating in the air. You just stand there for a minute, watching, making sure its snow and not rain. Then you scream and eat it and cherish it to the fullest, because you know the magic will disappear in a few minutes. And then ... oh, when it sticks. That is the treasure day, the day when life seems to have meaning again, and winter seems happy and real, instead of mythical and gray. Walking along the city streets stopping at a parked car to press your glove in and sign. This is what snow is in the city. The thing every child wishes for most passionately from the moment they can point to the sky. It snowed today.