We haven’t had much snow over the last couple of years, and that hasn’t bothered me. (I’m still smarting from a winter of 70-plus inches of snow that kept me from Boston for three months straight a number of years ago.) I don’t ski or snowboard – well, aside from that one time which took me an hour to get down the bunny slope while my brother and Suzie passed me at least three times.
Still, I have a soft spot for a little bit of snow, especially at the start of winter. For those of us who live in the Northeast, this is how life should be at this point in the year. If you don’t like it, move somewhere that better suits your climate preferences.
On the fallen mop-heads of an ‘Endless Summer’ hydrangea, winter dresses up what we thought autumn took away. That magic of snow is what makes it worth all the problematic aspects it presents worth the work. Winter is like that too, and in the last few years I’ve come to slowly appreciate and ultimately embrace its hold.
