Okay, it's true. I love snow, and since my inner child started playing with matches, I prefer the cold as well.
There are few things more beautiful than falling snow.
Sometimes the snow is heavy and wet, dropping from the sky in huge, exuberant globs. Other times the dry, crisp snow sparkles its way to the earth.
The sound of snow as it falls is the most gentle sigh, one of deep contentment. The quiet is deep and comforting. The harsh sounds of modern life are buried in the cold blanket. It doesn't hurt that snowy roads slow the traffic on the highway out front. As the break-neck urgency of the present gives way to the cautious crawl on the slippery drive I am reminded that this road, which began as in pathway for the native people, has welcomed travelers from ages past.
Living in an old house is always an adventure. Many of the windows still hold glass created more than 150 years ago. As I watch the snow fall I wonder who else has watched the seasons through these panes. Did she too try to capture the spell of the moment? Did she store up the textures and sounds in her minds eye? Perhaps she was too practical for so frivolous a pursuit.
Snow will come again, but will I be here to see it? I'm watching, listening, learning just in case.