Among all the other great colloquialisms my dad has imparted ("dry as a popcorn fart," anyone?) is "a snowball's chance in hell." The first real snow in NYC this winter had this likelihood of lasting. That is to say, none. It melted away in the day's sun, not even leaving slush as a reminder.

Drats.

This morning, I froze on the stoop in awe. Central Park was glistening in white, just as it should be. Cars burping black exhaust into the sky seemed a little friendlier with their icy glaze.

Everything felt shiny and clean...for all of two hours.

There's that retort, "Take a picture. It'll last longer." When it comes to last night's snow, nothing's closer to the truth. I'm glad I took some.

*A few flakes were falling when I got home tonight. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for more.