Dear snow... I don't want you to think I'm fickle. I think you're beautiful. It's true that every winter I complain there isn't enough of you. You come only once or twice a year, and you disappear too quickly. I love to sit by the fire and watch you fall outside my window. You are quiet. I don't have enough quiet in my life. You make the ugly brown clean and white. You cover the dying grass and crinkled leaves. The world seems more peaceful for a little while when you are here. You are truly beautiful.
You are so fun, too. We can throw you, roll you, slide down you. We can make angels out of you and catch you on our tongues.
This is just the bottom of the snowman we made with you. How much fun was that?? He was bigger than all of us! We find so much joy in you!
When we flattened our backyard we actually considered making a huge toboggan run just for you. It would have been perfect. We have this very large hill down the back yard that would have made for some high speed racing. Sadly, it leads directly into the trees, and despite the begging of my husband and children, I opted for less trips to the hospital. So now we sled here:
And herein, dear snow, lies the problem. Do you know where this is?
This is my driveway. My 300-foot long (football field length) driveway. With a gigantic hill right in the middle.
Perfect for sledding, yes. Perfect for getting the cars out? NO! It's prone to your evil twin, ice, and I can't tell you how many times I have slipped and slided, spun out my tires, burned rubber, fishtailed the back end of the truck into a tree, missed busses, carried groceries from the street to the house, climbed - literally - on my hands and knees up you. I have shoveled. I have taken a pick ax to your inches-thick frozen base. I have acquired blisters. I have fallen on my butt. I have screamed. I have laughed, but bitterly, because I refused to cry. And sometimes I have cried.
And this year... this year you have decided to take up frequent visiting, so that I think I've only seen the ground five days since the beginning of December.
Don't get me wrong. I still love you.
But I would love you a whole lot more if you could fall everywhere but on the driveway.