Snow Days

Every season has its own unique beauty. I love and savor some aspect of each and have a hard time choosing a single favorite when prodded. The bright, fresh green of spring and growing things. The slow, shimmering heat of summer mingling with the dry, dusty air and lazy afternoons. The crisp mornings during fall, the air filled with the dark, fertile scent of dying leaves and plowed soil.

This morning we woke to the quiet beauty of winter. A layer of sparkling snow covered everything, our normally black gravel drive a a narrow strip of virginal white against the clumps of brown weeds and dead grass poking through the fluffy layer. A thin covering blanketing the branches of naked trees turning the somber winter limbs into something far more picturesque and fantastic. The flit of deep red cardinals and gem-like bluejays stark against the ivory canvas. The world is silent, sound muffled by the natural noise buffer covering every surface. The call of birds is softer, the woods more serene, the world smaller somehow. Rough surfaces of undulating fields softened and smoothed in the distance, an oil painting waiting to be relished.

It's a universal feeling: Snow requires much sleeping, snuggling, sipping of hot, steaming beverages and healing frazzled psyches. I think every time it snows a snow day should be declared, regardless of the depth of the white stuff. Cities would save money on clearing and salting roads, schools could give teachers much-needed days off and families could spend precious time together.

Seems pretty perfect to me. Or maybe I'm just wanting to lob a snowball at someone this morning.