As most of you know, I am not a big fan of winter. Largely because it involves snow. Even a light dusting sends me into a funk. I hate driving in it, I hate walking in it, I hate shopping in it, I straight up hate dealing with it. Bleh.
But, of course, we live in Bermtopia where, on any given winter’s day, hundreds of poor besotted souls can be heard whining, WHINING mind you, about the recent paucity of white stuff and posting cheery “Let it snows!” on their Facebook pages. Stoppppp. A pox on you all!
And yet.
As I sit here, cursing the darkness as I digest the latest sentence handed down by the National Weather Service -- a dump of 10 to 12 inches tonight and tomorrow (blizzard conditions, too! my life is complete!), I can’t help but think about one particular morning up at the park last week.
A light overnight snow had left about 2 inches on the ground. It was a (relatively) warm, wet storm, creating snow that gracefully wrapped itself around tree branches, shrubs and rooftops.
Yeah, yeah, just like a freakin' Hallmark card. We do have our moments here in Bermtopia.
The park was still dark, but sunrise was teasing at the shadows, shifting them from black to cobalt blue. The new snow glowed bright in contrast, muffling neighbors' Christmas lights. The air was perfect and still -- no breeze to disturb the snow coating favorite landmarks.
Almost -- almost, mind you -- seeing beauty in the whole damn chilly, silly mess.
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