Each Season

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 Is Like Life

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

Snow Ode

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.