Snowflakes, no two alike, boggle the mind

First snowfall came in on tomcat feet rather than Sandburg's delightful description of fog coming on "little cat feet."

My helper, Mary, and I lay down in separate places to window-watch its arrival. Predictions had been numerous.

When, outside my window, the first flakes began to fall I began to recall my favorite snow poems. I pretended to be Robert Frost's character who stopped his little horse beside the "lovely woods, dark and deep" to watch them fill up with snow.

The two big oaks in my front yard were my "woods." Across the street there are other trees, including a row of pines. It was enough to make wood plural.

While I was thus watching I readily recalled, "The sun that brief December day rose cheerless over hills of gray and darkly gave at noon a sadder light than waning moon" from "Snowbound." Of course it was January for me, but the author's chosen month had to have just the right number of syllables.

By clinging together the snowflakes grew bigger. My attention turned to them. Snowflakes have fascinated me ever since I let one fall on my dark sleeve and had a magnifying glass handy. No two snowflakes alike and always six-sided! It boggles my mind.

After that first magnified picture I made a real study of snowflakes.

When vapors in the clouds turn into moisture and the temperature is freezing here come these marvelous crystal flakes. It takes 10 inches of snow to make the equivalent of one inch of rain.

One can find pictures of the various types of snowflakes in encyclopedias. How did they get them? It is a procedure I'd like to try some day. You let a single snowflake fall into a plastic solution. It quickly hardens, and as the snowflake melts it leaves a hollow shell in the plastic which retains the exact shape of the flake.

I have never had such a laboratory experiment but am just quoting from an article about snowflakes.

What kind of plastic solution? Some melted Clingwrap? A bread wrapper? My melted toothbrush handle?

Hush! I'm not going to try this. Just letting my mind idle.

Among the many snowflakes I've let land on my dark sleeves there was once the rare stud snowflake. These have two six-sided flakes connected by a hexagonal column somewhat like cufflinks, only much smaller. How could these leave a shell in a plastic solution?

The beautiful snow kept falling. I watched it mound on the roof of the small bird feeder outside my window. It appeared to be about two inches of accumulation. A bright red cardinal came to the trough and began to feast. Oh, for a good camera! But then I'd have to raise the window, worry the storm sash up and by then the cardinal would have been in Scott City or thereabouts. So I just snapped a mental picture to hang on the walls of my mind. These walls are running out of space for pictures. I need a brain implant.

As early twilight began to approach, I began to make other snowflake plans. I had a Pillsbury pie crust in the refrigerator. I'd get it out, roll it smooth and cut out snowflakes with the pretty little cookie cutter Wendy gave me. Bake. Spread with butter. Sprinkle with cinnamon and sugar.

The plan caused me to abandon my window watching and get to the kitchen. While the baking was going on I thought of the lovely snowflake-patterned doily Viola W. had given me. It would make a most suitable placemat for my plate of snowflake pastries. A person has to make her own grace notes sometimes.

REJOICE!

Jean Bell Mosley is an author and longtime resident of Cape Girardeau.