I love snow. 

Nope, not the white rapper from the '90s. But the white stuff that falls from the sky. You know, not the ash from the summer forest fires. Or the pieces of building flying around downtown, but snow. 

I like the sounds it makes when you walk or drive on it (slowly). I like watching it fall while I am wrapped in a blanket and looking out the window. Every year I wait anxiously for the flakes to fall. I check the weather apps a little too often waiting for the forecast to say snow. Then because it is near impossible to predict weather here, I am frequently let down when the promised snow doesn't fall.

But then, it finally happens. Usually, a huge storm that it takes forever to recover from because this city's idea of a snow removal plan is a Chinook. But everything is so pretty, sounds outdoors carry differently. And everything is quiet. Autumn in this town brings the brown dead grass and dust everywhere. When the snow comes, the grass is covered and I suffer less from allergies (until the spring and snow mould becomes an issue). Everything just feels a lot cozier. 

The first few snowfalls also mean that Christmas is coming. Snow for me means that there will be more family time, and less running here, there, and everywhere. It means finally getting to wear sweaters and cardigans every day. I am likely to be the one to wear socks with my Birkenstocks, so just ignore my feet. 

My husband grew up in the desert and never learned the penguin on the ice walk, so he is a little less fond of the white stuff, but he does like how it looks when he doesn't have to walk on it. 

Instead of thinking about the shoveling and the people driving around on summer tires; think about the apple cider, family time, and warm socks. You might be surprised how much more into it you become.


Popular posts from this blog

Momma's Boy

Deep Breaths

Changes, or how I never thought I would miss the last guy.