Louie and I have long held a debate about winter – I’m pro, he’s con. Or maybe I should say was pro-winter. This year has challenged decades of preference. As another snow fell yesterday, I couldn’t help but hope that this might be winter’s last hurrah.
As I cleared my car for another slushy drive home, I was feeling pretty sour. I needed a few reminders on why I love winter to pull me out of that funk.
- Coffee never tastes as wonderful as it does when it’s twenty degrees outside.
- Only in winter, can you see something like this:
- And then there’s the sound of snow underfoot. I like to think of it like an Eskimo might, making up a sound-word for the snow. Each makes its own distinct noise. Sometimes a snowfall goes squench. Sometimes kroosh.
The drip-drop of icicles melting hold the promise of spring. Soon it’ll all be gone. And while it’s hard to imagine it now, I know by mid-summer, I’ll miss it again.
