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.

For scale: the wee houses on the bottom left, hugging the side of the mountain. Taken from my balcony.

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.

February 17, 2018

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