R.A.S.

I stepped out of my dorm tonight to go to the library, and I had to pause.

It was snowing, the kind of lightweight wet snow that sticks to everything and slowly piles up on the sidewalk. It was the first snowfall in days, following the January thaw, and that was almost enough to make it beautiful to the point of mention.

But I could also smell the warm scent of campfire smoke, and hear the light tinkling of the snowflakes all around me. I looked up, and a few flakes came into focus, the others blurring into orbs on the edge of my vision.

And I had to take in the moment, not simply because of its beauty, but also because it struck me how magical winter is in Vermont, and that this would likely be the last time I would be seeing it.

Not literally. I have lived in New England my whole life, long enough to expect a plentiful winter. But the magic of that moment was fleeting. It won’t come back, but it will stay with me.