Devonne Brown

Hazel stepped out on the stoop and stepped right back in the house. Her eyes were huge. “Is this what I think it is?” she screamed. It was still dark outside, but the white of seven inches of snow lay bright and unmistakable over everything outside. She could hear the snowflakes pile higher and deeper, a quiet she’d never heard before. “Is this what I think it is?” she whispered.

Jim laughed. “Depends on what you’re thinking, Hazel. I can’t read your mind. Talk to me.”

Hazel laughed, and looked through the glass of the storm door. She turned on the porch light so she could watch the snowflakes fall, flutter, and stick to every tree, house, and car on the street. Seven inches of snow soon turned to sparkling eight frosty inches. Where Hazel came from, snow was only on Christmas cards drawn by children in school and story books in the tiny school library. 

Snow was a myth taught in her school. She never thought it might be real, yet here it was. Nobody moved. She had plans to go to work today. She had people to see and things to do, but from the looks of her car under nearly a foot of snow, it wasn’t going to happen. The whole street was buried too. Time stood still. No one was moving that morning. She might as well make some more coffee and settle back into the morning.

The lights flickered, yet persevered. The house was warm and cozy. Jim built up a fire in the fireplace that seemed more warm than usual, insulated by the huge amount of silent snow. Hazel couldn’t stay away from the storm door. “Shut that thing, or you’ll let all the heat out,” he said.

“I can’t help it. I want to watch. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

“When the sun comes up it will be even prettier. Shut the door so we stay warm. You can go play in it then,” said Jim.

Hazel shut the door and smiled. The snow wasn’t like the beauty of the palm trees and water of her home, but it was something she would never forget, a white wonderland of deep silence.