my dear friend,
I love snow. An unpopular opinion, I know. I am one of those strange folk who find the grey of late fall and winter a welcome. November is one of my favorite months--it is honest but hope lies beyond. One can be a little gloomy without the scolding of the sun or cheery call of green leaves. Sorrow finds shelter under thick clouds and along startled grey waters.
We are decorating a little early for Christmas, just a few wintery and light things. This fall was the best I remember in a while, in terms of weather and leaves, and I was busy enjoying it rather than writing here. It was good to be outside and present in the season of beautiful death. Not all death is so beautiful.
But the snow comes today, hushing the cracking world with a dance that rages in a frenzy, then calms into a quiet ballet. What a wondrous thing that tiny flowers of ice can weave themselves together over the ground, wrap roofs and trees until we are all tucked in for winter.
I do believe I love snow even more each year, and I will not stop that love from growing. It is too beautiful, and worth all the costs to me. May you see and savor its beauty today, too.