First snows

First snows are a bit magical. The pure white is divine. Clean and pure, brightening the drab ground and fading greens and coating each delicate branch of the trees.

The first flakes always seem extra large and light and fluffy as if to say “notice me, I have arrived.” The first snows are often wet and heavy, blanketing the pine boughs and each individual blade of grass. You can almost hear the branches groaning under the weight of the watery, frozen load.

Winter often sneaks up on us. The temperatures begin to dip and frosty mornings become the norm rather than the occasional chilly night. The annuals begin to shrivel and die and become compost. The leaves color and fall. The sun moves south in the sky and the daylight dwindles.

We fall into winter and cuddle up by our wood stoves and fireplaces and don our wooly socks, chooks, down jackets, and boots once again. We see our breath in the cool air and feel the snowflakes on our nose and cheeks. We gaze skyward and fall into a trance of falling flakes, spiraling from the heavens to the tips of our toes.

For me snow is comforting. It signals the end of another season and is like an armor over the beauty and life below that it protects. It is part of the plan.