2018 March 07
Winter, I Love You
Before moving to Michigan, I never lived anywhere winter was truly welcome.
Winter in my birth city was mostly snowless, wet and frigid. Winter in the city where my father died pelted us with ice and wind. Winter in the city where I built my first career wasn’t winter at all but a mere spring break before rainy season and the return of summer again.
Some people will tell you that winter here in southeast Michigan isn’t winter at all. And, as all things are relative, that may be true.
But, this winter, the winter of 2018 has been glorious.
We’ve been dusted with fine, white snow that settles delicately on branches, roofs, roads and everywhere else like fractal, fragile sand. The kind of powder that sends skiers racing off the lift to be the first to carve tracks down a newly dusted ungroomed slope.
We’ve been blanketed with heavy, thick snow that bend everything flexible to their ponderous will. The kind of snow that’s perfect for building snowpeople in the front yard and snowball fights on the way to school.
We’ve planted our imaginary flags upon all the dirty, crunchy parking lot mountaintops and ridden our cheap plastic sleds down that hill across the street. You know the one, the one that suddenly seems so much steeper than any other time of year.
Some days, a 15 minute walk home from school takes an hour because we’ve got to climb every mountain made by the snowplow at the end of cul de sacs, peer into every kid-formed tunnel in front yards, and eat every tempting drift of only the absolutely freshest snow.
Beneath the bright sun and brilliant blue skies that follow a snowstorm here, the trees wear a twinkling skin of smooth ice. We wonder if the branches themselves will still be there as their crystal skin melts away. And the radiant warmth of this rare day fills our heart with such joy that we don’t care how quickly 8 inches of snow become 5 inches of mud.
Winter, I love you.