It really shouldn’t surprise me. I mean, I’ve lived in Western New York for all of my life, give or take a year. I’m no stranger to snow, and yet, when an inch and a half came our way in early October, my initial reaction was — “No way!” Some years it just happens that way. Other years I might not get my first glimpse of the white stuff until February. I never can be sure of when, but one thing I can be absolutely sure of is that it will show up, sooner or later, and usually plenty of it.
I say I don’t like snow. It messes up my plans. It makes driving dangerous. It wreaks havoc on people’s homes, and if enough of it falls at once, it can keep me stuck inside for days. And yet, winter just would not be winter without it.
Without snow we would be deprived of the joy of snowmen, the gift of an unexpected day off from school. The twinkling Christmas lights on Main Street wouldn’t seem as twinkly, and the fire crackling on the heart just wouldn’t seem as cozy if not for this magical manna swirling down from the skies.
I walked outside early this morning to a glistening wonderland. I had to pause for a moment just to take in the beauty all around me; the sugar coated trees, the sparkling creek, the sheer, unspoiledness of nature’s majesty.
Snow. It’s inconvenient. It’s unpredictable. Sometimes it’s downright nasty. But like a naughty child or a thoughtless lover, it can be so utterly captivating that it melts my heart, and I forgive it every time.