I love the way freshly-fallen snow looks on certain things: trees, barren ground, fallen grasses, or faded fences. I’m less thrilled when it covers those items that are typically part of the summer scene: flower pots, pool ladders, or garden tools. Then it just makes me sad. As long as there is snow on these things summer will stay well away.
There’s a certain poetic sadness to this, something that rings of a ‘Grey Gardens’ sort of forgetfulness. Time moves on, covering and uncovering our lives, slowly taking its toll on all of us, irrevocably moving in the only direction it knows: toward decimation and ruin. Nothing gold can stay.
On the flip side, nothing frozen can stay either, not in these parts. Soon enough we will be complaining about heat and humidity, stinging mosquitoes and picnic-crashing flies. All those things sound like heaven right now…
