Marseille Snow

I used to think that fall leaves were my favorite thing ever. They make me ecstatically happy. But when I walked outside from Thanksgiving dinner in 2010 to a winter wonderland, a falling snow that didn't stop for a month, I discovered that it might just be that snow is my favorite thing ever. I can count on fall leaves every year. I can only hope to see snow. The hope increases the joy when fulfilled.

Back in January 2009, there were whispers of coming snow. The forecast said it would happen, but all the Marseillais said, "I'll believe it when I see it." My language teacher told me that it hadn't snowed in her son's lifetime...and her son was almost 30 years old. Like a child on Christmas morning, I woke much earlier than necessary and raced to the window to see if my dreams of falling flakes had come true. At 5:30am, they had not. Absolutely no precipitation. No white. No skies softly drifting to earth.

I went about making my coffee and meeting with God and didn't look up at the window for another hour. When I did, oh my how the scene had changed! It must have started snowing just after the moment I'd last looked... Here's a video I took from my balcony that morning.

I went out and wandered through the once-every-thirty-years Marseille snow and marveled at my Mediterranean city covered in white. Palm trees bent low from the weight of the fluff. Visibility almost zero in a city that is usually blindingly bright blue. The water in the port frozen with small icecaps bumping against sail boats.

It was the best day I'd ever had in France. I still treasure that memory.

This past weekend, I checked the forecast on my phone: Wednesday, sun. Thursday, snow. Friday, sun. Saturday, sun. Sunday, sun. Etc.

Thursday, snow? Could it be? That a small little break in the sun would bring...snow?! Please oh please oh please let it be! Let it snow! Just one small sweet day of precious beautiful fluttering flakes.

Despite being sick and Nyquil-drugged, I jumped from the bed this morning, raised my shutters and looked out the window in joyous hope.

Soft little flurries were bumbling around in the air, trying to drift their way down. They were so light that I couldn't even capture a photo of them. Not that my iPhone weather app proves anything, but it did show just what the snow looked like: Heaven's dust coming down for a gentle, quiet morning.

It's not even noon and the snow has stopped. None of it stuck. And as the weather forecast shows, the sun will come out tomorrow and probably stick around for awhile. After all, this is Marseille. But I am so thankful for those few hours of watching the stuff that fills my heart with such joy fall from the heavens.