Snowfall and prayer for a neighbor

Earlier tonight as I was walking the dog, it was snowing—soft, giant flakes like feathers falling thick through the air. When you stood under a lightpost, it was like being inside a snow globe. I haven't seen—or, the greater pleasure, walked under—snow like that in years.

Within just a few minutes, it thinned out, like gruel, and the magic was past.

Blessed are you, Lord God, maker of wonders;
you send forth the snows from their treasuries.

Hugo and I went tonight to get our hair cut, as we do every couple of months, at the home of a gay Mexican we know. Normally, there are a few other people waiting, but tonight there was no one else until we were just about to leave, when two young men showed up. The barber explained that business has dropped off because of the economic crisis, which is hitting undocumented Latinos hard. He's thinking he may have to move. Hugo told him we would miss him if it came to that.

As we were walking home, Hugo repeated to me something the barber had told him that struck him. Hugo had asked if it snows in his hometown in Mexico, and the barber said no. "The snow is beautiful," he said, "but we pay a high price to see it."

Blessed are you, Lord God, Father of mercies;
you hold the poor in your hands.