Quote of the Day
The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.
–Robert Frost, Dust of Snow
Is there anything to unite people of the South, at least of Mississippi, more than the prospect of snow? Oh, sure, there are always naysayers. But I’d venture a guess that over 90% of Mississippians love snow. All it takes is one irresponsible weather man to say snow is “possible” or that we are on a “winter weather watch”, or that “conditions may exist” and the whole state goes into a waiting and watching mode, hoping against hope that this will be that rare year to see it fall and stick, yet knowing deep down that its highly unlikely.
This morning brought such a warning for those of us near Jackson. We’re on a “winter weather watch.” And everybody is watching. So far, its nothing but rain, and a steadily dropping mercury. But we watch. And wait. And hope.
If it snows–really snows–I’m taking the day off tomorrow. I might build a snowman, something I’ve yet to do in my 25 or so snow day career (only about 5 of which were in Mississippi). There’s no one to snowball fight with, though I’ll surely regale my family with tales of the epic snowball battle royale I had back in college with Greekson, Sweet, Smily, and others. Maybe I’ll even find a hill to slide down using a (patent pending) Mississippi sled. That’s if I can find some cardboard big enough. Around the state, the places that get snow will virtually shut down. The schools will close and businesses will freeze operations. People will jam the phone lines, especially from the colleges, calling home to say “It’s snowin!” and “Y’all gettin any?” Others will jump in their cars and skid into shallow ditches. Many photos will be taken. And yeah, a few will grouse.
But for now, we watch. And wait. And hope.
Bonus Quote of the Day
Whose woods these are I think I know,
His house is in the village though.
He will not see me stopping here,
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer,
To stop without a farmhouse near,
Between the woods and frozen lake,
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake,
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep,
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
—Robert Frost, Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening