Here it is the last day of June, and we are writing about snow? About twenty years ago I ran a 10k called christmas in July, so I guess we can make our days anything we want them to be. Well, it just so happens that I was writing about father’s day a few days ago, and happened on a letter from my father dated 12/19/70, whom I will let write for me: “Still, there are some things I would like to share with you — the fact that the whole countryside is covered with a thick blanket of snow. That a few nights ago, I was driving through part of the town and everywhere people had christmas lights on trees and bushes around their houses and inside many of them, christmas trees were all beautifully decorated and glowing with lights of different colors. Or, when it starts daylight in the morning, my bird-feeder is almost covered with cardinals, blue jays and several other types of birds. Those bright red cardinals are especially nice against the white snow. Here and there are pine trees, really loaded with snow and looking like the picture out of a book of christmas stories. Things such as these I would like to share with you.” I notice that SNOW has the word NOW in it, and now, today, it is July fourth, America’s independence day, one of my dad’s favorite holidays, as he was born in Germany, came to the USA when 17, became an American citizen, and fought against his Hitler-run country. Our family would attend the yearly celebration at Cornell University’s football field, where marching bands played and fireworks lit up the sky. And bangs would pound into my heart as does this memory. As the marching bands filed off the field, everyone would stand up to honor the American flag. My father was a polite and kind man, so I was surprised when he tapped the man’s shoulder who stood in front of us and said, “Please take off your hat in respect of the flag.” Today, there are two just-hatched Junco birdlings in the nest she made in my hanging basket, where multicolored petunias hang over their heads. I wish I could share this with my dad in the sNOW. My daddy died in 1977, and his footprints follow me everywhere I go, not just where he gathered his three children to cut down our christmas tree every christmas eve.