The snow of the season falling and melting within a matter of two weeks got me longing for old snow. Winter never felt lonely at the sledding hill across from school. That hill was my first lesson in community, and unspoken agreements. Climb up the hill on the edge, ride down the middle, encourage the scared little kids, laugh with the stranger you just collided into as you help each other stand.
That hill held snow in all its inconvenient beauty. Red noses, damp mittens, stinging eyes, and constant shrieking laughter. We don’t get snow like we used to. Most of the winter months, that hill remains quiet and sparsely populated as the rain makes its grass a slippery risk. Sledding days are now few and far between, but they are not gone. When the snow falls, you will see suburban children trekking down the street with sleds carried high, ready for a day at the hill.
