I used to love snow. Cold, wet snow that came to my town in Arkansas once a year. One inch of white magic.

School would close for two days. Kids playing football on fertile grounds of summer. Squash, greens, tomatoes, corn, peppers of red and yellow, purple hull peas, and green beans growing in the spring. Picked in late August and canned for winter. Shelves stocked high in basements.

Across town in trailer parks, kids would wake to the ground cover as well. Yelling, screaming, laughing over news reports of closed roads, closed businesses, and the inch that was reported. Their parents were not so happy. Missing two days of work. Worried over bills. A bottle of hooch in the cabinet. But the kids were just like us. Pleased with the inch and the magic that it brought.

And then it was back to normal. Roads wet from melted snow. Temperatures back to around fifty-five degress. The sun showing who truly owns this land. We would all wait for the inch to come back. And it always did.