February

“Have you ever seen snow?”, she asked.

“Of course”, her friend answered.

“Show me”, she said.
“Okay”.
Up to the mountain, people on snowboards, the man-made snow grainy underfoot. Bluebird skies, 50 degrees out.
She laughed, “This is not real snow”.
Her friend said, “Show me”.
“Okay”.
Hop on a plane, go for hours. Wake up from dreams, get off the plane.

Go out into cloudy grey sky, 30 degrees. Rent a car, drive to somewhere unknown.
“Where are we going?”, her friend asked.
“Somewhere.”
Drive up up up, stop under crystal laden trees. 
“Come on”, she said.

“What are we doing?”, her friend asked.
“We’re going to see the snow.”
“I already showed you the snow”, her friend said.
“That wasn’t real snow”, she laughs,”This is”
Walk under branches stooping to the ground, the forest floor covered in 2 feet of powdered sugar.
“Real snow tastes like cinnamon”, she said. “It isn’t just one color, it’s all of them. Real snow silences anywhere it touches.”