The last snow ever…

/ Jeff Cann

The last snow ever fell in 2035. I suppose someone got snow in ’36, but not where I live. Not in the mid-Atlantic states. We already passed the tipping point, but no one knew this yet.

Two slushy inches is hardly worth mentioning, but you asked about it, so here I go. The boys made the best of it, as boys often do when snow falls, but that’s not saying much. My old sled wouldn’t slide, too wet, too grassy. They ran and dove down the backyard hill, but the sled stopped short, and the boys flew onward, soaking clothes and twisting limbs.

A droopy snowman sat out front, only two balls rolled. Wet, crumpled leaves jammed into his face resembled eyes and a mouth.  He tumbled over and melted away when the snow changed to rain.

In the end, only the snowball assault resembled a real snow day activity. They hit me when I came out the front door. Snowballs bounced harmlessly off my sweatshirt and whizzed past my head. But Jaden caught me square on the chin, sending an icy spray down my shirt. The kids screamed and ran out back and didn’t return for ten minutes. By then, crimes were forgotten, or so I said.

I showed them snow angels since they were already drenched, and how to tug on a tree limb to dump snow on your friend. I made a big production of shoveling the driveway since they never saw that before, but I knew it was a waste of time, the melting had begun.

Written in response to the prompt “The last snow ever…” at my writers’ workshop tonight.

Image by Gareth Baker from Pixabay

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