There was a promise of something big. Something an entire city hadn’t experienced since 1989. I sat glued to the weather forecast, hopeful and ready. Then I heard something — a sharp rain that wasn’t rain after all. It was ice!
The sky went gray and the air turned white. It stung a little at first. The falling crystals not yet mellowed into fluffy stuff. I went out anyway. I wasn’t going to miss Savannah’s first snowfall in 28 years and my first snow since moving to a tropical island eight years prior. Camera in hand, I flitted like a child through the farm that turned from green to winter white. I gravitated to the old red barn with the Christmas lights strung from its roof. Across the foggy pond, a crane — its pointy beak buried in its white fringe — was perched on the banks. I slid down the opposite bank, aware of how precipitous one wrong step could be on the icy earth. It was worth it.
Next, I photographed the horses, some huddled under a tarp open on both ends; others defying the elements and basking in the snow. Their manes were frosted and brittle.
I walked down a long road under Spanish moss dusted with snow. I laid on the thick white crust and watched it fall on my footsteps, photographing them under the low hanging moss. Tiny red berries on trees were encased in ice.
As I wandered off the road, the path became impassable with trees bowed low by the heavy powder. I turned back only because my gloved fingers were numb. Three hours later, the delicious winter snow ended and I was cozy in my trailer admiring the farm’s new white blanket from my window.