I love snow, but hate winter in general. Living in the Piedmont of North Carolina, a good snow is rare. What is a good snow, compared to a bad one, you might ask? A good snow is enough snow to blanket the ground and streets so that school is closed. A bad snow is when you are confined to the house, and can't get to the grocery store (or the mall) when the need arises.
Since snow is rare here, our city/county budget doesn't require us to spend a fortune on snow-moving equipment, as is the case for our northern neighbors. When the weather forecast gives us the slightest promise of a few flakes, our citizens head out in droves--clearing grocery store shelves of Fruit Loops, Oreos, milk, and bread...you know, life's necessities in case of a natural disaster. If we actually get any snow, the local news stations will suspend coverage of all regularly scheduled programs to give us a play by play of the event, including standing in the middle of the street with a ruler to measure one-inch of snow. I know, it's pathetic! But there I'll sit, eating popcorn, watchng their minute-by-minute coverage.
So far this year, I haven't seen a single flake, zilch. Without the slightest encouragement of snow covering the brown ugliness of my January landscape, I am utterly miserable. Life isn't worth brushing my hair or getting out of my pajamas. Okay, that might be a bit of hyperbole, but you get the gist of my mid-winter mood.
Each year, I passionately await each tiny sign of spring. Once the calendar flips past December twenty-first, winter solstice, I note the sun comes up a few minutes earlier and goes down a few minutes later each day. I've already pushed my fingers under the pine needles to feel for the sprout of daffodils. When their sunny faces appear, and the forsythia buds burst open, we're on the backstretch of the race for spring.
This year we might not have a "good" snow, but when our city's abundant Bradford pear trees drop their snowy white petals in a warm spring breeze....it's the next best thing!
Copyright 2012 Charlotte Laney
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Daisy Was Her Name
Daisy Was Her Name Daisy was her name. My Grandma Mac was a tall woman with wiry white hair rolled into a bun. At least that's how I rem...
-
Last night the two oldest "littles" stayed overnight. They worked 4th of July word puzzles and coloring pages. Later, we made po...
-
I think I'm getting acclimated to this July weather. We've had so many days with over 90 degree temperatures that this morning'...
-
Daisy Was Her Name Daisy was her name. My Grandma Mac was a tall woman with wiry white hair rolled into a bun. At least that's how I rem...
No comments:
Post a Comment