Last evening, shortly before 10 p.m., I returned to St. Anne’s (the facility at which I work) to bring the dog back. (Recently, “Zoe” has been an evening guest at our convent.)

Snow was falling; it was beautiful. Something about a fresh snow fall tends to bring out the playful little girl in me. That is, until mid-January when I am sick and tired of it.

While waiting for the dog, who wasn’t as quick as I was, I preceded to try drawing a smile face in the snow, something I often do when that “little girl” gets the better of me.

The snow was still falling, though, and I figured that my cheerful illustration would be covered up in a soft blanket of white long before anyone could see it in the morning.

When I got inside with Zoe and brushed off my feet, I saw a few of our residents gathered in the atrium, a room which my dad has dubbed “the perfect place to watch a snowstorm.” (the room has an abundance of window space.)

To these lingering residents, I exclaimed: “Snow, snow! Look at the snow,” quoting a book we knew and loved as children. I continued on, quoting: “Do you like snow? Yes, I like snow! Do you like it in your face? Yes, I like it any place!”

I’m not so sure I agree with all of that, but there is something beautiful about God’s gift of that fluffy white stuff!