Much like, apparently, the rest of the United States, where I am has snow. Now, it is perfectly normal to have snow here, so we are neither without power or freezing cold or struggling to drive or any of the not so great things that can come with unexpected storms (poor Texas!). It does feel a little strange, though, because we’ve had more snow this year than the last few years, and it doesn’t show any signs of stopping. Am I disappointed by this? Not in the slightest.
I like the snow. There is something truly magical about the way that it covers the world, muffling noises until they become whispers, smoothing out the dull colours of leafless trees and winter grass and grey skies, making it sharper. Harsher. Calmer. The snow can be startlingly bright, reflecting more light than even some summer days. But it is also quiet. Muted.
There is also nothing quite like the pleasure of trudging through fresh snow, being the first to leave tracks in a pristine surface. Or, alternately, letting the quilted layers stay as they are without blemish. It is a means to follow where you’ve been, and who has been there, too. Squirrels leaving dots as they pass over top. Deer with their precise steps. Birds who hardly leave a mark at all.
Snow is wonderful, a sign of winter, my favourite season. In a few short weeks, the snow will give way to rain, then spring. Until then, however, I shall enjoy sitting curled up by the fireplace with a cup of tea and a book that will transport me to another realm while the snow slowly piles up outside the window.