I have a photograph I took of my grandmother the year before she died. It’s a black and white print, made in the darkroom I had set up in her basement then. She is sitting in front of “the picture window,” in her living room in Richmond, Virginia, reading. The light is cool and quiet, the room peaceful. She is content. Yet, out the window, clearly visible, snow is falling hard and blowing. It makes a pleasing contrast. The date of the photo, written in my own collegiate hand, is April 15th.
Other photos from the same day show her beloved and locally famous rose garden covered in blooms and covered in snow.
Yesterday it was 70 degrees and sunny. Today, April 7th, and over 30 years later, it is snowing again. The forecast predicted 2-4″, but the cold front has not arrived in time to make it so.
Still, it comes down and coats the hyacinth and redbud, the narcissus. As I write this the lawns across the neighborhood are frosted white, though too dark now for photos.
The wood stove is on high. A good day for local beer and a big bowl of chicken and broccoli curry soup.
