The Day It Snowed in Savannah

It wasn’t supposed to snow.

Not really.

Apparently it hadn’t happened in over a decade — and somehow, for the second winter in a row, I found myself in it again.

But this one felt different.

Not because of the snow itself — but because of how the city reacted to it.

Everyone was outside.

No hesitation, no second guessing. People building snowmen like they knew it wouldn’t last. Dogs running around like it was the best thing that had ever happened to them. At one point, I saw a full-on photoshoot happening in the middle of it — a model, fully styled, completely unfazed by the cold.

No one was sitting this one out.

And then I ended up at Lincoln’s.

Every inch of the place covered in drawings of Abraham Lincoln — walls, ceilings, everything. It shouldn’t work, but it does. At some point, a snowball fight broke out inside the bar. No buildup, no announcement — just people immediately in it, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It felt like everyone had collectively decided to lean in.

Forsyth Park in the snow didn’t feel real. The fountain — something you’ve probably seen a hundred times — softened, covered, almost unrecognizable in the best way. Everything looked quieter, like the city had been briefly reset.

And for a moment, everything slowed down.

No one was trying to capture it perfectly. No one was trying to turn it into anything more than what it was.

They were just in it.

And that’s what made it so good.