On December 24, 1998, Christmas Eve morning, I awoke to discover snow had fallen in Portland, Oregon.  A white Christmas is an extremely rare occurrence here, and so it was marveled and wondered at, and certain people even wrote poems about it!
 
   The Visitor   By Treeheart       Snow sneaked into the town that night, Just slipping softly into sight.  Then daybreak framed the eerie glow As crystalled aether danced a show.   The first to find the furtive fall Was Max the rodent, quick and small. He opened up his beady eyes, And then he smelled the white disguise.    Max curled his tail for a shawl, While freezing ice kept him in thrall. But peace was not for Max to keep,  For feline paws began to creep.   The footed hunter passed and paused. And craftily withheld her claws. She froze her breathing, froze her throat, As sparkles decked her thickened coat.   Right then a cry broke soundless sphere: "It's come! It's come! The snow is here!" Kitty dashed and Mousie sneezed. At least the little boy was pleased!   The stranger was found out that way, As night turned into busy day. No longer silent, solemn, strange, The visitor began to change.    Foul footprints sullied pristine sheet, And graying clods formed in the street. Proud fleeting glory past it's prime Passed into shadowed vaults of time.   But that day poets would recall, The purest pilgrim of them all, A Portland snow on Christmas Eve,  Brought us a legend to believe.     Poetry Waterfall   Map