Whenever it snows in Georgia, I think of that scene in To Kill a Mockingbird when all the kids thought that the world was ending because there was snow in Alabama. People are afraid to drive, school is cancelled, and we all stop. We stop everything that we're doing to go outside and be mesmerized.
It was strange to watch the snow actually stick to the ground and collect. It was like I was someplace else, a place where there is a real winter and a real spring and a real fall instead of one blurry season of warm, hot, and rain. Snow is even better here because it's so rare. You truly appreciate the beauty of it because it's something that you never see.
The next day we drove to Savannah so that I could try on wedding dresses. We drove past fields and houses all covered in snow and little amateur snowmen and people throwing snowballs, trying to soak up all the winter wonder that they could while it lasted. The snow was gone by the time we got back.
I still don't have a dress after two hours of standing in front of mirrors. Running in and out of a dressing room. All I know is that I don't want to look like I stepped out of a catalog. I don't want something predictable and perfect. I want something beautiful and strange.
I want to be like snow in Georgia.