I almost hate to admit it, what with all my posts of year-round flowers and being an escaped northern girl, but I’ve really been missing the snow this year. I miss waking up to that particular quality of silence only a new blanket of snow provides. I miss snow days - and their pretence that you can’t go out, when really it’s just a great excuse to stay in.
I miss catching snowflakes on my tongue, bringing snow creatures to life on the lawn, sledding and skiing and that that first tentative step that mars a pristine world. I miss lobbing a soggy ball at a loved one, and squealing in terror when they return the favour. And I miss warming up afterwards, with my toes curled under and my hands wrapped round a mug of cocoa.
When STG and I visited Shiny this summer, we did it with an eye to seeing if life over the mountains was a life we could live together. I remember living there and the feeling of isolation in the winter – of being nearly cut off from the world be treacherous mountain passes.
But now, in my bone-wearniness, that isolation has its own appeal. Especially when we’d be in such comforting company.