I had a really great post idea in mind for this week. But, by the time I was able to sit down and write it … Well, it had more or less fled. There are other things I want to talk about and, maybe, need to talk about, too. But I don’t feel like I have the mental energy to deal with any of them. Yes, this is me … running away from my thoughts and feelings.
Instead, I am going to talk about the wintry interlude currently happening in my corner of the universe. I remember feeling eerily unsettled around Christmas because our temperatures were hovering in the low to mid-fifties (that’s Fahrenheit, y’all). It just felt much too warm and weird, and I did not enjoy having rain instead of snow to celebrate my holidays. I admit I felt a little bit cheated because it looked like my beloved Winter was not going to materialize.
Ha! I was so silly for feeling this way. Because, of course, Winter managed to find me. Here we are, in February, and our normal Winter temperatures are roaring in. On Friday, it was negative two degrees when I started work in the morning. By noon, it had warmed up all the way to eleven. It was a heat wave, I tell ‘ya! I know you are probably reading this and shaking your head in disbelief and thinking about how nutty I am. But I’m going to put this out there, anyhow: I love those cold temperatures. I hate hot weather. I hate humid weather. And I love the cold, even when I am shivering and complaining about it.
I know, I know. If I love it so much, why would I complain about it? Because I’m human. And that’s what we humans do. We complain. About everything. Even about the things we love.
Even better than the sub- or near-zero temperatures is the fact that we have snow! We have mountains and mountains of snow right now. I am not kidding about this. There is about a foot of snow in my yard. My dogs are loving it. Even my fourteen-year-old girl runs outside into the yard, barking her head off as she tunnels through the snow drifts. My younger dog, who is eleven, is having the time of his life. He bounds through the snow like a giant, hairy jackrabbit. And comes inside looking like a living icicle. It never fails to crack me up, which is a great way to break up my work days.
I’m not really one to play around in the snow. I don’t want to run through it. I don’t want to build a snowman or go sledding. I don’t have any interest in tossing snowballs. I just like looking at it. I like to stand in it and see it come up to the tops of my boots. I like to watch the sunlight twinkling off of the little ice crystals like so much magic suddenly turned real. I love to watch frost make lacy patterns on the windowpanes of my house and the door to our backyard from the garage. I like how it smells so fresh and clean and watery. I like to see how the evening shadows slowly grow across the blanket of white in my backyard, slowly creeping fingers of blue to signal the end of another day.
All too soon, my beautiful snow will melt away. It is already fading from our driveway, thanks to the last few sunny days we have had. It will leave behind a swampy mud-pit of a yard, along with muddy dog footprints on my floors and that unmistakable “wet dog” smell that seems to seep into everything. In all honesty, it’s the “wet dog” smell that truly signals the coming of Spring. I know other people will say it is that first sight of a cardinal or robin in their yard, or the first daffodils poking through the frozen ground. Those people would be wrong. You know it’s Spring when your whole house smells like “wet dog” because all the snow has melted.
I’m not going to lie. I’m dreading it more than a little bit. Spring is beautiful and everything. And I know that, somewhere deep inside, I will be ready for the change and for a breath of fresh air by the time Spring actually arrives. But I will miss my beautiful snow. And I will miss my wintry interlude.