Intro

I want it to snow and never stop. I want big, black storm clouds—not those wimpy gray ones—to cover the land from here to the horizon and beyond. I want flakes the size of dinner plates, blizzards that last for weeks, and powder so deep you need spelunking gear if you lose a ski. I’m only satisfied by “storms of the century”—and I’d be even happier with storms of the millennium. Each time I see a snowflake, I want to ask it, “Are you the one? Are you the first to come in the storm without end? Or are you going to disappoint me like all the others and only accumulate to eight inches, or a foot, or a foot and half?” It’s a bit of an obsession, I admit, but I’m just happier when snow is falling. Especially when it’s falling on me.

Our world is filled with what seem like miracles. Butterflies that migrate for