On Snow
It is 4:20 p.m. and the snow is beautiful.
All two feet of it, still on my car. Snow is my favorite season.
Really.
I love how it smells when it's fresh, how like powder it feels when you walk on it, how fun it is to shovel yourself out of your home. Making snow angels.
Hot chocolate for my shovel-helpers.
The plough does come to do the driveway, that part of the drive not already plugged by our cars; today, he's come twice already.You'll never hear me complain about Winter or Snow.
It's not cold here, there's really not much snow, so there's little to complain about, despite what they say about this region of the country. It is true I know of no one other than myself who holds a steadfast belief in the magic of our pleasant winters here, but there's a good reason.
I used to live up north, north of the border, in Canada, where it is colder than Moscow, Russia, my cousin says, and has a lot more snow. Snow brings back the pixie dust magic of when I was very small.
Snow has the comfy feeling we're all protected by a special blanket wrapped all around. There's no logic to it; it's just emotional truth.
Even an ice storm, so treacherous to drive, has a special magic, first thing in the morning.
When you see maple and sycamore branches barren of leaves but coated with three inches of ice, you know your humdrum, dreary day suddenly vanished, and you are a small child once more in the land of magic, pixie dust, ice crystals and happiness.
Copyright, 2003, Randomedia, Kathryn Esplin
Copyright 2006, Kathryn Esplin, The Tree Lighting
All two feet of it, still on my car. Snow is my favorite season.
Really.
I love how it smells when it's fresh, how like powder it feels when you walk on it, how fun it is to shovel yourself out of your home. Making snow angels.
Hot chocolate for my shovel-helpers.
The plough does come to do the driveway, that part of the drive not already plugged by our cars; today, he's come twice already.You'll never hear me complain about Winter or Snow.
It's not cold here, there's really not much snow, so there's little to complain about, despite what they say about this region of the country. It is true I know of no one other than myself who holds a steadfast belief in the magic of our pleasant winters here, but there's a good reason.
I used to live up north, north of the border, in Canada, where it is colder than Moscow, Russia, my cousin says, and has a lot more snow. Snow brings back the pixie dust magic of when I was very small.
Snow has the comfy feeling we're all protected by a special blanket wrapped all around. There's no logic to it; it's just emotional truth.
Even an ice storm, so treacherous to drive, has a special magic, first thing in the morning.
When you see maple and sycamore branches barren of leaves but coated with three inches of ice, you know your humdrum, dreary day suddenly vanished, and you are a small child once more in the land of magic, pixie dust, ice crystals and happiness.
Copyright, 2003, Randomedia, Kathryn Esplin
Copyright 2006, Kathryn Esplin, The Tree Lighting
posted by Kathryn Esplin | 5:23 AM
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