On Saturday, January 23rd, 2016, snow fell from the sky amid gusting 60 mile per hour winds, and was declared a blizzard.  Sixteen inches of white stuff fell in Greenwich, Connecticut. Thirty-six inches of snow fell in Staten Island, New York. That’s a lot of snow! The Mayor of New York City measured it this way; "The weekend snowstorm dropped 105 billion pounds of snow on the city." And an amazed visitor from Mexico City said, "I've never seen anything like this," as he carried his suitcase in his cold, ungloved hand, and trudged along the snowy sidewalk.

Reporters peppered us with news headlines, each encapsulating his or her perspective of the snow: Blizzard Strikes the East; Deadly Snowstorm Buries Much of Coast; Winter Weather Wallops the Region; Basketball Team Stuck 13 Hours in Storm; Ten Inches of Snow Falling Every Six Hours; 8,569 Flights Canceled; Coastal Flooding Expected Due to Full Moon and High Tides; Bride Doesn’t Let Blizzard Stop Her Wedding; Dangerous Nor’easter Kills 19; Travel Bans Posted in Major Cities; 74,000 Customers Lose Power; East Coast to Dig Out After Monster Gale.

No one was exempt from the impact of the storm. Most of us took it seriously and prepared for it. The homeless headed for the safety of shelters. Those fortunate enough to have homes, stocked food and firewood, ready to watch nature's super bowl play itself out. Proprietors of retail shops, service establishments, and restaurants reluctantly locked their doors, dismayed at the loss of Saturday business - their heaviest revenue day - income they'll never recapture.  And those who work for them missed hourly wages they depend on. To make up the loss, some drove snowplows or manned snow blowers and shovels to earn extra cash, while providing much needed help.

The snow was worthy of our attention and respect. Some slept the time away, while others of us watched the power of the moving storm through our windows. Huge pine trees and telephone poles swayed in the wind, and the crash of falling branches added sound to the silent veil of falling snow. The elderly turned up the heat and hibernated in safety. The young tracked the wind, eagerly waiting for it to subside so they could play outside - remembering the taste of melting snowflakes on their child-size pink tongues, and anticipating the feeling of their boots sinking deep into the unmarred snow.

All storms come to an end.

The sun appeared, and oh, the beauty of the light on white. Here's the calm after the snowstorm in the woods outside my window. A picture is worth a thousand words.