I am NOT a fan of winter. I dislike wearing layers. I loathe driving in storms. I don’t appreciate how long it takes to get two kids dressed for the elements. And I definitely don’t like shoveling. The other day I went outside with my father to clear the drive and A-J joined us. Bundled up in full-on snow gear, she simply stood on the front step, staring out at the white landscape around her. She didn’t need to play or do anything specific. She was entertained for almost a half hour just looking at the snow.
So this morning, armed with my second coffee of the day, I went to our dinning room window. And I stared. It was only for a few minutes, but I was totally mesmerised. I started thinking about how amazing snow actually is. All of these fat, fluffy cluster of flakes were falling down (how’s that for alliteration) to their own rhythm, independent of wind and of each other. Each flake is (virtually) unique, yet blends itself perfectly with others. Special. Different. Pretty.
Though I still don’t like shoveling it, snow is beautiful.