Honeymoon snow
So, around 8:30 or so last night, I let Dakota outside and discovered the backyard was blanketed in a layer of wet, wet snow. SNOW! Now, I do believe it'd snowed in my backyard already -- a couple weeks ago when I was in Ottawa. But I wasn't here to see it, so this was officially my first snow of the season.
And, I have to admit, I enjoyed seeing it. Because, you see, this is what is classified as "honeymoon snow." This is one of those first handful of snows of the late fall and early winter that you find so charming and lovely. They make you want to knit and drink hot chocolate and go out and walk in it and think all kinds of quiet, introspective thoughts. You might even quote poetry or make a snow angel or engage in a spontaneous little snowball fight with some rambunctious neighborhood urchins. You find the shoveling you have to do to be entirely enjoyable because, gosh, it's such good exercise! You have to enjoy these snows while they last, because soon this honeymoon snow starts turning into "blind apathy snows," which are the snows that fall in the late December to January timeframe. These snows can be quite beautiful and also quite dramatic but, because it's December and January, you expect them, so you almost don't see them, even though they do have a tendency to blanket the outside surfaces quite nicely and are, for the most part, a lovely shade of winter white. The exception to the apathy is, of course, the Christmas snows. If they do not fall (heaven forbid), their absence is loudly and woefully noted and it almost seems silly to listen to such fanciful songs as "Sleigh Ride" and "Winter Wonderland" and "Let it Snow! Let it Snow! Let it Snow!" The lack of Christmas snows, some believe, take years off Santa Claus' life. It's truly catastrophic. In any case, the apathy snows, of course, are closely followed by the "overstayed your welcome snow." These are the snows that fall starting around February, and they're the ones that fall from the sky white, but somehow manage to turn a dingy, depressing gray the second they hit the ground. Those snows can be rather hard to take. But, probably the worst snow of all is the "you've gotta be f&*king kidding me!" snows. These are the ones that fall in late April or, god forbid, early May and screw the tender little crocuses and tulips and daffodils ALL up. These snows have been known to make people curse the sky and swear most adamantly that they're moving out of the friggin' Midwest because WHO CAN HANDLE SNOW IN MAY?
But, eventually, the snows recede and spring arrives for about three days before you're hit with your first 85-degree, humid day. And then, round about mid-July, you're all slumped on the couch, sweating out of every pore with about three fans blowing directly on you while the sun tries to murder every tender surface outside, and you think, "God, it's hot. I wish it would snow."
And, I have to admit, I enjoyed seeing it. Because, you see, this is what is classified as "honeymoon snow." This is one of those first handful of snows of the late fall and early winter that you find so charming and lovely. They make you want to knit and drink hot chocolate and go out and walk in it and think all kinds of quiet, introspective thoughts. You might even quote poetry or make a snow angel or engage in a spontaneous little snowball fight with some rambunctious neighborhood urchins. You find the shoveling you have to do to be entirely enjoyable because, gosh, it's such good exercise! You have to enjoy these snows while they last, because soon this honeymoon snow starts turning into "blind apathy snows," which are the snows that fall in the late December to January timeframe. These snows can be quite beautiful and also quite dramatic but, because it's December and January, you expect them, so you almost don't see them, even though they do have a tendency to blanket the outside surfaces quite nicely and are, for the most part, a lovely shade of winter white. The exception to the apathy is, of course, the Christmas snows. If they do not fall (heaven forbid), their absence is loudly and woefully noted and it almost seems silly to listen to such fanciful songs as "Sleigh Ride" and "Winter Wonderland" and "Let it Snow! Let it Snow! Let it Snow!" The lack of Christmas snows, some believe, take years off Santa Claus' life. It's truly catastrophic. In any case, the apathy snows, of course, are closely followed by the "overstayed your welcome snow." These are the snows that fall starting around February, and they're the ones that fall from the sky white, but somehow manage to turn a dingy, depressing gray the second they hit the ground. Those snows can be rather hard to take. But, probably the worst snow of all is the "you've gotta be f&*king kidding me!" snows. These are the ones that fall in late April or, god forbid, early May and screw the tender little crocuses and tulips and daffodils ALL up. These snows have been known to make people curse the sky and swear most adamantly that they're moving out of the friggin' Midwest because WHO CAN HANDLE SNOW IN MAY?
But, eventually, the snows recede and spring arrives for about three days before you're hit with your first 85-degree, humid day. And then, round about mid-July, you're all slumped on the couch, sweating out of every pore with about three fans blowing directly on you while the sun tries to murder every tender surface outside, and you think, "God, it's hot. I wish it would snow."
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