hope on

I heard a sudden commotion behind me in the room.
"Snow!"
"Look, it's snowing."
"There's snow."
I turned and gazed at a cluster of teenage faces and followed their gaze to the windows beyond.
I squinted.
A few sparse flakes were dusting down like salt sparingly shaken.
Only in Abbotsford, I thought.
Only here at the coast would there be such awe and joy over next-to-no-snow falling.
We always hope though.
A few trees are pushing leaves already and bulbs are poking up through the soft, rain soaked ground.
But we still hope.
Pussy willows are just five or six weeks away.
But we hope on.