I am not a winter person. Having grown up with asthma, the cold is not my friend. Breathing in air that is colder than 35 degrees is difficult for me. With modern medications, life is much easier and I do not have to live such a sheltered life. It was very different when I was a kid and there was no treatment for asthma at all. I would go outside long enough for one slide down the hill or one section of a snowman, then I would have to go inside and struggle to breathe as I watched my sisters continue to have fun outside. All that to say that I don’t like winter.
But I do like snow, from the comfort of the other side of the window, I enjoy watching the flakes fall. I enjoy watching them land on the cold window pane and show off their tiny, intricate shapes before melting into oblivion. Each one different and beautiful in their differences. I love looking out and seeing the trees lined with a delicate tracery of white as if God drew each branch, each twig with a fine white pen. I love standing in the doorway and seeing the kids go out to play in the drifts and slide down the hill behind the house, hearing their laughter ring out in the chill winter air. Then I turn around, wrap myself in a blanket, and pour myself a steaming cup of hot chocolate while I settle on the couch to read.
This past week, we got our first significant snowfall. I watched the flakes fall from the sky to the earth and slowly cover the landscape with a gentle blanket of purest white. I watched the kids slide down the hill, laughed as the dogs rolled and played, and sipped my first cup of hot chocolate. *sigh* another beautiful winter wonderland.
OK, now where’s spring?