When I was 15 I moved from Georgia to Illinois. My father had gotten a job transfer. He promised that when we moved I could have a horse. I dreamed of snow, something so precious in the South that even the sight of flurries would render Marietta immobile. I would bully the girls next door and my sister not to disturb that light blankets that sometimes fell, but before noon they would have melted into the dull beige lawns. Once there was even a blizzard and everything shut down for days.