The Sami people of northern Finland have over 200 words for snow. I wonder if they have one for you:
For your arrival on gray storm clouds that expand to fill the sky, dropping down into our valley and obscuring the view,
For the way that you silence the newly awakened spring chatter of the forest,
For your ability to erase the gritty piles of last month’s snow with your bottle of white-out,
For the way that the branches of the ponderosa, laden with your weight, bow down a little closer to the earth,
And the dazzling way you dress Mount Rosalie in a gown of the purest white.
Greta and I stand at the glass door, waiting for the nomadic reindeer herder to whisper your name. Until he arrives, we will just call you magic.