A Winter's Romance
Twas just before Christmas, and the winter had been warm and mild. As if to satisfy the hearts of children and the dream of a song, the temperature dropped, and the skies eked out a dusting of snow to cover the ground and just barely satisfy the white Christmas requirement. Then, it seems, mother nature held her temper long enough for all the holiday travellers* to make their way safely home. Now, apparently, she wants us all to stay there.
The first true snowfall was wonderful! Winter had finally truly arrived. Driveways were shoveled out by hand. Snowmen were constructed with care. Children raced down the hills over the white fluffy wonderland. It was glorious and beautiful, and true New Englanders rejoiced.
Then, the snow melted. The days warmed up into the 40s. The beautiful winter wonderland disappeared. Snowmen lost their form, and the brown grass and bare trees sat stark across the landscape. But worry not, it was a temporary breath and what was to come would soon cover the bleakness in so many unexpected ways.
Soon, oh so soon, the second snow came, once again blanketing the land in sparkling white. Children rejoiced as school was cancelled before the first flake hit the ground. The morning brought piles of new snow, inspiring the serious snow enthusiast to once again break out the shovels, and the less so to break out the snow blower. Once again, snowmen were shaped and decorated with love, sleds were seen racing down hills, and snowballs filled the air wherever two children could be found together.
Hardly any time then passed, it seemed, before Jack Frost paid a visit to our land, winter truly
settled in, and temperatures plummeted into the single digits. This time, the snow did not melt, the children stayed inside longer as snow-clothes were challenged, but a toasty fire could still warm the hands and hearts. Along with the cold weather came snowfall number 3. It added to the mounds of white and then iced itself, like a frozen cupcake, with a frosty layer of freezing rain, made solid by the night winds and the negative wind chills. That day, the family snow blower truly proved its worth.
Snowfalls 4 and 5 fell softly on top of the sparkling white, adding two to four inch sprinkles on to the frozen covering.
Hurrah! Sang the children, as the snow fell yet again and school was once more closed up tight. It's possible, if you listened closely, you could hear the feathery light tones of a mother curse softly under her breath. Twelve more inches graced the landscape. The joy of shoveling, having passed three storms ago, the snow blower running low on charm and gas, it became the storm of the plowman.
The icicles that had begun at inches soon grew to feet, and their great toothy daggers could be seen on every home.
We gave up measuring the snow by inches (38.8 but who's counting) and found other, much more poetic ways to describe the scene. This is how I prefer to describe our own.
half a school bus high.
Isn't that romantic?
*Apparently I'm British at heart. Traveller with one "l" looks funny to me.