Everything has a season. And each season has its thing. Each contains hazards and beauties— Each a flourish that’s distinct. – Winter might seem standoffish with all her sharp, icy edges. But winter crochets snowflakes to decorate the landscape. Her … Continue reading →
Spring never fails to impress me. I marvel at it yearly. To watch as once barren branches that looked incapable of life when coated with winter’s snow or sparkling sheets of ice suddenly explode with puffs and petals—blossoming overnight—is an … Continue reading →
If I can’t walk along a sandy beach, let me trudge through stark white snow. What a satisfying sensation. What a scrumptious crunching sound. If I can’t stand in the sun and bask in its strong heat, let me feel … Continue reading →
I don’t mind the snow. It looks like the sky celebrating—tossing down flakes like rice at a wedding—or like celebratory confetti. Indeed, it will turn to ice or slush, but first it’s new, a clean blanket of white covering the … Continue reading →
A moment of silence for the passing of winter. Her season has ended, so we bid her farewell. She will be best remembered for her beautiful snow coverings—her unique bleached tapestries. She could coat anything in white—from cars to homes … Continue reading →
I don’t mind the snow. Precipitation is winter’s prerogative. At best, snow is a beautiful blanket of promise. At worst, it’s a cumbersome inconvenience. What peeves me is what some people choose to do (or not do) with this solid … Continue reading →
Hello snow. Hello confetti cut by clouds. Come set the sky aflutter with flurries. Come pile up on cars and trees and houses. * Alight on eagerly outstretched, young tongues. Blank slate the earth. Whitewash the ground. * Sometimes you’re … Continue reading →
I will always love snow—winter’s whitewash—a fresh coat of (albeit temporary) paint for the world.
Snow that makes a cup of hot chocolate taste better.
Snow with its crystalline sparkle on a moonlit night.
Snow that can turn anyone into a playful child.
Snow that clings to trees, highlighting bare branches in white.
Snow, which holds on to my footsteps and shows I was here making an imprint. Giving my feet the chance to leave their mark.
Snow working en masse like a benevolent army, closing schools, grounding planes, making roads impassible, and inviting those that can to slow down or at least proceed with caution.
Snow that turns ordinary places into dreamy landscapes, covering garbage and benches, windshields and walkways, signs and front yards, hills and highways—coating it all like cream cheese frosting on an irregular cupcake.
Snow days, snowmen, snow angels, snowballs.
Snow that gives hydrants and hedges peculiar white Afros.
Mini avalanches falling from awnings, catching pedestrians by surprise.
Winter boots and galoshes making confident strides.
A snowflake caught upon the tongue or resting on an eyelash.
The slushy sound of car wheels making wet progress.
Windblown flakes constructing abstract art on windowpanes.
Shovels hitting pavement in a laborious cacophony.
Memories of sledding down snow-cushioned hills on lunch trays with classmates.
I will always love snow—waking up to find winter’s white shawl spread out across everything in sight, inviting me to come play, become decorated with precipitation’s cold confetti, or, at the very least, venture out to hear the crunch beneath my boots, look back, and see that I’ve left an impression.