Jane hates snow.
"Go back up in the sky!"
She is screaming it, standing with her head thrown back and barely visible in the net of snow squalls.
"Back. Up. In. The. SKY."
I don't have time for this today.
"BACK! BACK! GO!"
She's raising her arms, pushing at the air and redirecting a few stray flakes. It sounds like she might be crying. I can understand why this is bothering her so much. It's April. April is supposed to have daffodils and tulips, the Easter Bunny, ladies in straw hats and pastel dresses. It's warm enough that I'm standing in this flurry wearing jeans and a heavy T-shirt. The snow is coming in huge dry flakes and skittering around my bare arms.
"Jane," I say, "D'you think it's pretty?"
She's still hollering, and I put a light hand on her shoulder, repeat myself. "I think it's really pretty, Jane. Pretty like you." She turns her gaze to me, and in that moment, the sun breaks the clouds, and for a moment, the snow is blazing around and sitting in her auburn mane, and the sun lights up the world behind her. Blue sky spreads fast, so I point back up and say "Look. The sun's coming out for spring."
She says, "Yah, it's pretty."
Then she smiles.
The Past :: The Future