I loved to watch the big heavy flakes fall while sitting inside a warm home. I loved to stand outside and catch the flakes on my tongue. I loved to build snowmen and snow forts and make angels in the snow. I loved to trudge through the snow. I may have loved shoveling snow (though I don't remember doing it, ever). Strangely enough, I don't remember ever sledding down a hill when I was a child but I know I would have loved that, too, because I loved it as a young adult.
We wore wool then: wool coats and wool mittens and wool scarves. We played in the snow, soaked them through, then trudged inside, wrung them out, and laid them over the heaters to dry. We also held our reddened hands over the heat sources to warm our nearly-frozen fingers. I never minded having cold fingers because being outside in the snow had been such fun. If it weren't too late in the day, I was ready to go out again as soon as my mittens were dry.
I think the attraction of snow was its different-ness. Because of its snow, winter is not like any other season. Late spring can be mistaken for early fall. Late fall can be mistaken for early spring or early winter. But mid-winter, with its dark, laden clouds, grey days, grey and brown landscape, and heaps of snow, can not be mistaken for any other season. It belongs to itself. And snow belongs only to winter.
Yes, when I was a child I loved snow and winter. I'm so many years older and colder now. If only we could have snow without brutally cold weather like we've had this year....
This post is #15 in a series called "The Book of Me, Written by You," created by Julie Goucher of Anglers Rest.
The prompt for this post was "Snow!"