Anytime snow drifts down from heavy-lidded clouds, my heart skips a beat. I can’t even tell you why snow makes me so unimaginably happy. Maybe it’s because I grew up in rural Ontario’s icy cold winters, snow drifting to cover first story windows and barns. Or that I lived in the high mountains of Colorado where snowboarding season starts in late Sept/early Oct and runs, on a good year, until June. Or it’s just in my blood, Scandinavian going back as far as records go.
Maybe I was just born for the snow.
What I know; every single time snow falls, and accumulates, it lifts all the darkness around me. The world becomes beautiful and serene and quiet in a way that no other weather brings. I *want* to be out in the world when it snows. Hell I learned how to drive in Colorado mountain snow, on treacherous passes and unpaved roads that snaked around 14,000 foot mountaintops. Snow is a friend.
I’ve been stuck in the rain far, far too long. Seven years, and despite everyone telling me I’ll get used to it, I have not. I mourn having no snow at my feet and no sun in my sky.
Time to make a plan to head to where the snow lives, I think. I’ve stood in the rain long enough.