by Memee

Created on: August 05, 2008

As a child I loved winter for the cold snowy days when school was cancelled and we could play outside. We would build snow forts with tunnels and snowmen twice our size. Although they closed school due to the snow, our rule was the deeper the snow the better. Life as a child during winter was carefree and fun and hot chocolate with marshmallows after playing outside was the ultimate reward.

As a teenager I loved winter for the night time walks with friends while the snow tumbled gently from the night sky. Everything around us looked magical as if millions of diamonds had been tossed on the ground. We giggled at the sight of our own breath in the crisp night air. Coats buttoned up with gloves and scarves we would march along the sidewalks leaving tell tale evidence of our travels.

The love of winter as an adult is a mixture of melancholy and remembrance of time long past and the excitement of the first winter snow. Having grown weary of the bleak barren landscape I eagerly await the weather forecast predicting a heavy winter snow. At last I am one of the chosen few who has the distinct knowledge I have no place to be and no time to be there. I can sit by the window sipping coffee while I watch the snow flakes lofty descent to the ground.

I find a great deal of delight in the quick accumulation of the soft white blanket covering the sidewalks and yards. From my window I watch the snow plow thundering down the street pushing the accumulated snow off to the side; closing off the entrance to my drive way. I haven't a care in the world; I have no desire to leave the warmth of my home. I spend the afternoon mesmerized by the perfection of each fluffy flake as it passes by my window. Almost as if it was awaiting my nod of approval before reaching its final destination; the ground.

The day comes to and end and twilight descends on this part of the world. The soft glow of the street lights makes the ground shimmer giving off a bejeweled aura as only the first snow of winter can produce.

The world outside my window looks soft and clean and untouched. The trees are no longer gray and dismal looking. They have redeemed themselves allowing the white of a winter snow to cling to their branches. The still of a winter night is akin to looking at a snow scene painted on canvas. A thing of beauty that can not go unnoticed even by the untrained eye.

I must admit I am reveling in a sense of smug satisfaction watching the snow. For the first time in twenty years I do not have to drive in old man winter's audacious display of white. I have finally earned the right to just sit back and enjoy the scenic display of winter at its best.

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