Winter is frosty mornings, fluffy slippers, long johns, thick sweatshirts, and hot coffee. It is gallons of home made soup and loaves of fresh baked bread with pounds of creamy butter. It is red noses, cold toes, and puddles of melted snow in the foyer to step in when you have only socks on your feet.

You can finally hide that extra fifteen pounds you've put on with a big, bulky cable knit sweater. To bake all day without overheating the house, then cooling the sugary treats on the back porch in record time. Curling up with your sweetheart under the afghan you knitted this past Summer. Fire places once again reflect the orange dance of soul warming flames.

Can you hear the silence of a late night snow fall? Standing on the front porch, bundled in your favorite down filled coat, being warmed by the mug of hot chocolate you grasp in both hands. Breathing in the smell of virgin white serenity, then blowing out the hot, damp cloud of satisfaction into the still, dry air.

Huddled around the radio in the early morning glow of daylight. Waiting, focused, listening..."All schools in the Mifflin County school district have been canceled today. Go out and have fun today kids. Enjoy your snow day." Oh, don't worry radio guy, we will...WE WILL!

Snow men, snow angels, and snow ball fights. Snow boarding, snowmobiling, snow banks, snow boots, snow shovels, and snow plows; it is all about the snow!

Going to your grandparents farm, sleds in tow, to conquer the biggest hill. Climbing up, up, up. Your legs feel like jello and your lungs burning from the cold air. Runny noses wiped on mittens, and boots filling with crystallized fun. You sit on your sled at the top of this whipped cream mountain, and with one push from your sister, you are on your way. Gliding, floating, bouncing, all butter-fies and giggles.

Piles of discarded boots and soggy snow suits littering the front hall. Thawing out next to the wood stove with hot cocoa, waiting for Grammy to make your lunch. Reliving the morning with excited chatter and loud laughter, while picking little chunks of white ice from your shirt cuffs and wool socks.

The sun goes to bed early, and so do you. Sliding into bed under the weight of a thick, heavy comforter and soft, warm flannel sheets. Keeping your socks on until your feet get warm, and then using your toes to peel them off in the middle of the night.

Dreaming of winters past, and winters yet to come; of a little chubby man with a bushy beard and red hat; of twinkling light and colorful packages; of sweet potatoes and ham, cookies of every shape, and pies of every kind.

This is my winter. It is the season of memories made, and memories shared; of peace and goodwill toward your fellow man. I can feel it coming.

Learn more about this author, Kristy Dean.
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