Powdered sugar on a stack of strawberry pancakes- that’s what snow looks like in a red rock desert.

We are blessed with over 300 blue bird sky days throughout the year here.

Today was not one of them.

Fat flakes fell from the sky this morning. Unusually large for an unusually long time.

I opened my front door to a powder white sky and flakes whirling toward my face. Snow clung to the bare branches of elm the city planted and balanced on top of the last remaining pomegranates I forgot to pick.

To scrape the ice off of my windshield, I used my debit card. The roads were slushy not icy and mostly still black.

By ten a.m. it was 34 degrees Fahrenheit. Snowing, but not the fun kind. Not the sledding or build a snowperson kind.

Wet snow, the kind that soaks through whatever you’re wearing that was sold to you as waterproof. Hats become heavy and hands turn pink if they’re not in your pocket.

Beneath the blanket of white snow, orange sand fights for exposure.

It snowed and it snowed for six hours but barely broke the inch mark.

At work, the elementary school kids threw snowballs, made of mostly sand, at my feet and face.

After work, nearly all the snow had already melted. Puddles lined the concrete sidewalks that stretches across the Glen Canyon Dam. My boots were waterlogged within minutes. I was wearing shitty knock offs. I learned quick that the 18-wheelers driving across the bridge to get to Utah sprayed the puddles up and over my head.

I zipped my jacket and cinched my hood so I could peek over the bridge a bit longer.

On this of side of the Glen Canyon bridge is the slender dam that slides 700 slick feet down toward the outflowing Colorado River, which can be viewed on the other side.

Clouds concealed Lake Powell, a lake that will never freeze.

Why? Because the lake is a reservoir with a river running beneath it. The inevitable flow of the Colorado River keeps the water in constant motion in combination with the depth (435 feet deep at the dam) which allows for heat retention. The cold water settles to the bottom, much to the Humpback chub’s dismay.

Waiting for traffic to clear, I looked both ways like my mom always told me to, and splashed across the two lane bridge to peer down at the Colorado River, lazily snaking it’s way to the Grand Canyon.

Instead of seeing the shimmering river, the dark crack was concealed in a cloak made of clouds.

Before the sun sun emerged, the white blanket settled like a low hanging cloud before it dissipates. Melting maroon rocks into crimson, saturated rose petal red. A landscape I didn’t think could get more red.

Next comes the dripping, dripping, dripping.

Where is it coming from? A landscape that seemed frozen is now in motion. Everywhere, the sea of sandstone is dripping.

Only in some spots do the drips converge to become a flood.

I live in a little town on the top of a red mesa, with canyons snaking around the base. All precipitation that falls in town rushes downhill, following every crack and incline to the rim of the canyon. Hoping beyond hope that each drop will get to hurl themselves off to join the Mighty Colorado.

---