Expected, the snow came falling Saturday night. Two, three inches, it was a big, puddle-making whiteness as it fluffed the beginning-to-bud, empty-branched trees. An oddness prevailed as I headed to the car in the morning. Plop! Plop! Plop! The strings of snow fell from the limbs and through, impressing shapes which looked like twigs in the shell of what blanketed the ground.
A few weeks ago, I was telling people that one more noticeable snow was coming. Yes, it was March and it felt like Spring, but the calendar said only March and there would be one more snow I promised. No, no, no some said.
I could say I was right, and maybe this was it, that last dip of winter. I could say that many are tired of the white mess after months of winter. But, as I drove through the forest preserves, this snow was the landscape, those empty limbs etched with a fluffy white felt pen, one more dazzling reminder of a passing season.
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