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A big storm moved in this past weekend, dumping about 5 inches of snow on us.  A very kind neighbor brought his Bobcat over last night and  shoveled snow out of everyone’s driveway down our street.   By morning we had another 3 inches, so we spent a few hours this morning shoveling off the patios and walks, and snow blowing the driveway.  Another storm is predicted for tonight.

All this snow reminds me of books that have winter scenes in them.  Julie of the Wolves, by Jean Craighead George, The Snow Queen, by Hans Christian Anderson, East, by Edith Pattou, and Shiver by Maggie Stiefvater are some of my favorites.  My all-time favorite is The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe, by C.S. Lewis.  My grandmother sent the paperback set of the Chronicles of Narnia to me when I was young, and I spent many hours reading and rereading them.  I loved the illustrations by Pauline Baynes.   I loved Lucy, a girl who was bored and lonely, who missed her parents and home in London.  These books filled my imagination.  How I longed to find a magic wardrobe and have tea with Mr. Tumnus, to have adventures, meet Aslan, and defeat the White Witch.   If an ordinary child could find a door into a magic land and do something remarkable and heroic, then perhaps I could keep hoping too.  After I had finished reading the Chronicles of Narnia, I wanted to write to Mr. Lewis and thank him for his wonderful books.  I was so disappointed to find out he was dead.  Yet his stories live on.  I have reread the Narnia books many times since then.  I read them to my children, and I hope they will read them to their children.  As long as there are children, as long as there is imagination, Narnia will be real, and every snowy wood will have possibilities.

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