There was a whole ritual they went through last night.
I noticed the pajamas turned inside out, heard the two of them whispering on the couch: “Don’t jinx it,” my daughter said.
Checking on them as they brushed their teeth, I saw two spoons sitting on the edge of the bathroom sink.
“If you put a spoon under your pillow,” my son told me. “You get a snow day.”
“Don’t jinx it,” his sister told him, again.
“Don’t get your crazy kid voodoo all over me,” I said.
Each of them prayed for it before bedtime — more fervent, more confident than any pagan.
It rained all day yesterday, washing away most of the snow. The air was warm, the grass was pushing back through here and there.
When I went to bed last night, it was still raining. I could hear the wind outside, reminding me of California winters (such as they were) all wet and blustery.
The wind howled all night through my dreams.
This morning, up at 5:30 . . . the world outside is wind-whipped and covered once more in snow and ice. The schools are closed.
Perspehone sleeps, Demeter howls, and the smug spoons roll over and snuggle in beneath their pillows.