It's was no-shit showing in our neighborhood a few minutes ago.
Having completed my (almost) daily pilgrimage to McDonald's to procure my traditional repast of a Diet Coke and sausage burrito, I proceeded to drive east on Foothill Blvd. when it occurred to me. The wet condensation falling on the windshield of my car was ... splotching. Somewhat sticking. I looked out one of the side windows only to notice that the rainfall was no longer translucent.
Five minutes later, driving south on Mountain Ave. in Upland, it was officially. LITERAL SNOW. IN SO CAL. IN MY NEIGHBORHOOD.
It was a gorgeous sight to behold. I was taken back to the four years we lived in Chicago. Almost every single time I saw the snow come down, it was almost a religious experience for me. Magical. Breathtaking.
On Mountain Ave., I made a U-turn and proceeded to head north toward (but not into) the foothills of Claremont and Upland to see if the snow was at all more intense. And indeed it was. A literal snowfall. Not the weak type that melts upon impact. But the type that you can see accumulating on rooftops.
And it made me realize two things: 1) how much I loved the changing of the seasons when we lived in Chicago; and 2) how much I miss snow, its quiet beauty, its calming effects, its gracefulness.