Today, I woke to leave my house for work, early, expecting to clean off my car of the unexpected inches we’d gotten over night, to find my car was already cleared of snow… Must’ve been the neighbor. So, I left early, and took my time. I went the long route after I got coffee, and saw a two-story house down the residential street with an unusual snow formation on the roof. The gutters and roof were covered in snow, save for a scalloped design on snow draped off, down over the gutters on the front of the house. I had never seen such a beautiful formation of snow.
Sadly, I was not in an area where I could safely pull over, so no picture has been posted, but as someone who isn’t as enamorous of snow as I was as a child, it now takes beauty for me to enjoy snow. For me, snow should only happen on weekends when I don’t work, when I plan to stay home, and when I have the proper clothing to make playing in it fun. Monday morning, however, it should be melted already, in my opinion. Of course, this is not that perfect world, but snow should be enjoyed, not a hazard… I think Mother Nature fell short on that one…
My enthusiasm for snow died long ago. It died when responsibility became too much the norm; when it was priority to show up for work, even when it was treacherous outside. Places still do exist where a dusting on the ground closes a city or town, but I’m not lucky enough to live there. I live where all sorts of weather can hit you in one day. I live where you must become an expert driver in order to survive driving in all elements.
In essence, winter doesn’t hold as much wonder, joy, or celebration as I remember as a child. It’s sad, yes, but I guess the wonder is gone. Don’t get me wrong, Santa still lives in my heart, just the same as the manger scene and the beautiful story of Christmas, but all in all, I just enjoy a weekend dusting of the light, blowy snow on the trees, and grass, and the road plowed is a must. That is my ideal Christmas scene.