The White stuff called Snow

It was a long travel, the bus was comfortable and the layover was patient-teaching. New York City bus terminal (lower levels of Union Station) was teaming with people. As the saying goes, New York City never Sleeps, but the bus station was packed with people tired and weary from long rides to and from different parts of the country; Some sleeping on their luggage, others transforming metal benches into cozy dozing spots, a few read books, some listening intently to ipods and CD players, and a small band walking up and down the terminal making small talk and kicking sleep right off of their 2am sleep-deprived dreamy moods; eagerly waiting departure time.

When the long awaited departure time was at hand, and the loud speaker announcement was made, lines were formed, a well dressed bus driver collected tickets and passengers filed into seats, and off we went. Four hours thirty minutes later, we pulled in into the bus terminal- Springfield-MA. Glad to be in MA, my first state ever lived in the U.S. The snow covered embankments and snow everywhere reminded me of my first encounter with the White stuff called Snow:

It was winter 2002, fresh from the heat and warmth of Haifa; I got to shovel snow in Elliot- Maine (Green Acre Baha’i School). It was an exhilarating first experience. Dressed in Thick Jackets, Jeans, Boots and warmly secured hand gloves, making sure no part of my body except for my eyes were exposed to the cold temperatures, I shoveled that white stuff out of the driveway. Dove into some of the piles and flung some snow balls. I was not as brave to stay and mould a snow man, (for love of my highly needed delicate hands for drumming) but in Boston I was a hero to myself for playing ultimate frisbee under the cold weather.

Now I can reflect on the good times had in Charlottesville-VA.