Chapter Two, Section Four

I have been looking forward to spring ever since New Year's. The crocuses are making an appearance and I've even seen a few daffodils flowering. The snowdrops are already in full bloom; there are flowering trees here and there. I've got some little tomato seedlings peeking out of my windowbox propagator.

And it SNOWED today.

I like snow. I like skiing on a mountain surrounded by silent trees, the whirr-whirr of my skis the only sound. I like scooping up a big handful of snow and pressing it into a ball and taking a bite out of it. I like making the first footprints in my yard, the yard that has transformed into a pristine canvas. I like watching through the window as it falls gently or swirls madly, in daylight or under the light of a street lamp. Big fluffy flakes or minute powder. Three feet or half an inch. White or yellow(!).

I do like snow, but I like it in December, where it belongs. I don't want snow, I want spring.