First, let me say that I loathe snow. My loathing is contingent upon the depth of said white stuff. The deeper it gets, the loathier I get. While the weather forecasters have reminded us of this year’s snow deficit, that is of little consolation to me.
I dislike dressing in layer upon layer just to go outside to get the mail. The cardiologist has given me strict orders to not even think of shoveling this marshmallow world. And here on Long Island, we are very often on the cusp of snow and water, which means that a snowy day results in a super-sized slushy. So, let me say that I will not powder this post with words like fluffy and blanket and sugar. This will not be an ode to snow.
That, at least, is my first reaction when I see snow. It isn’t until I really look at snow that I can embrace its wonder, how it blows and drifts and catches on branches. Snow, I think, makes me appreciate evergreens more than ever.
My window of awe is a brief one, and this is my moment to enjoy winter white.
I am always amazed at the smell of snow in the day preceding a storm. Sniff carefully, and you can sense the scent of what’s to come. Cleaner. Fresher. Crisper.
I actually owe snow for inspiring me to create a knot garden several years ago.