The Snowy Day

Other than a description of today in Rhode Island, The Snowy Day is the title of one of my favorite books from childhood. A little boy wakes up and finds it has snowed overnight. He goes out and does the requisite snowman-construction, followed by snow-angel making, and other such fun. He makes a snowball and brings it inside, and is devastated when he finds it melted the next morning. Being home in the snow--and separated by only a few days from 80 degree weather--makes me realize just what the Texans miss growing up without snow. While it was weird, warm weather in November and into December was oddly comforting. None of that whipping wind and cold ears that you get on cold nights in New England. Fewer gray days, less vitamin D deficiency, and more warm sunny days make for an obvious absence of seasonal affectedness disorder. (Even though that's just a nicer way of saying you want to be on prozac). But coming home and then getting a real, genuine New England-style snowstorm that resembles the snow days of my youth reminded me of why I really am being honest when I say I love winter. Standing out in the yard in my puffy winter coat and boots, you're surrounded by an incredible silence. It is unlike any sort of silence you can find elsewhere, no birds chirping, no water moving, no wind rustling leaves. Just the almost inaudible sound of snowflakes hitting the ground, the trees, the roof. It's gorgeous. And whatever I do for now, and however much I fall in love with Texas, I know I'll have to end up somewhere there's a little bit of "winter weather".