When I was a little girl my parents owned a business that they ran out of a large old building. The history of the building was fascinating- in middle school I did a report on it- it had been a speak easy during prohibition, a theater before "talkies" and even after, an ice house where the ice from the river was stored for people to buy to keep their food cold. It was a beautiful old building. With lots of stories to tell.
Behind the building was a huge yard- it wasn't used on a regular basis for anything in particular.- but there was a huge spot light to light the building up since it abutted some railroad tracks. But in the winter time I used the yard all the time.
Just after a snow fall when everything is white and peaceful, there is that amazing silence and beauty that comes with a new fallen snow. I would walk over to the building and look at the yard, with the spot light the new snow shown almost golden. It was here that I spent hours playing, imagining I lived in a city of gold.
During the snow storm last weekend I was reminded of those moments as I shoveled and watched Sunshine build a city out of the snow piles created by the snow plow. Each pile was a different house in the city and served a different purpose, different people visited and she made a bench for me to come and sit on to talk to her.
I hope that when she is my age that her memories of her city are as fond as my memories of my golden city.