The end of November is within sight. We had snow flurries yesterday and our first sticking snow last night. It didn't amount to much, just a coating, and it will melt quickly once the sun comes up but, it's there, a harbinger of things to come. For the first time this season our high temperature won't even reach the freezing mark, although there is a warm-up (with daily rain) in the forecast.
I used to really like winter - wrapped in a heavy coat, with the thick, warm, blood of youth pulsing through my veins, breathing in deep lungfuls of air so cold it felt like it would shatter if you "pinged" it with your finger. I wondered at the beautiful silence that came with heavier snowfalls, and would often stand outside in the dark, quarter sized snowflakes swirling around me, and listen to see if I could hear them join their brothers and sisters on the ground. Sometimes, I could.
I loved making the first tracks across a field of white, loved being the first car on the road on my way home from work. That drive, although little more than a mile, was often magical. The road was lined with trees and, when we had a wet snow, it would cling to every tree, branch, twig, and weed along the way. I started calling these "wedding-cake-snows" because driving on a pristine white road, with snow covered branches bowing down above me, and surrounded by snow capped weeds along the fence lines, it truly felt as though I were driving through a wedding cake with mounds of beautifully piped frosting.
Maybe it was the lack of funds that eventually made proper outdoor gear harder to come by, maybe it was the rising price of fuel that made old, drafty houses difficult to keep warm, or maybe it was simply old age but, somewhere along the years, I've lost the joy of winter. I spend most of it in my snug little house, or a warm car on my way to somewhere else warm.