Writing

Frozen Winters

It snowed today, just for a little bit. It’s kind of amazing that it actually snowed here in October. Usually that doesn’t happen until mid-November at the earliest. People have told me it’s snowed here back in the dark ages when I was a little kid, but I honestly don’t remember it. Does it count if you can’t remember it?

Speaking of snow, I remember was a kid when the snow used to fall on a regular basis during the wintertime. It used to pile high, high enough for it to cause school delays and cancellations (sometimes the cancellations went for days, even weeks at a time). I was always so excited for those snow days. I’d go out in the yard and build snowmen and make snow angels. Sometimes, if it snowed enough, a couple friends and I would go down to the park a couple blocks from us, dragging our sleds behind us to race down the hills as fast as we could. When I was still small enough, my dad would put me on my sled and drag me around the neighborhood to look at the Christmas lights. Those were some good times.

These days, the snow hardly falls. Even if it does, it hardly sticks. I feel sorry for the kids growing up today who have never seen snow or had the chance to play in it. They are missing out on some great childhood memories.

Despite my nostalgia for the good old days, I’ve grown to dislike snow and cold in general. The first day of snow is always beautiful, I love watching the snow coming down in a thick blanket. But after a while, it gets boring. It’s too cold, too wet, and too depressing. As soon as the cold and early evening darkness blankets the town starting in the fall, the claustrophobia begins and I immediately begin to count down to the spring. I know we must have an end in order for a new beginning (winter before spring), but sometimes I wish we could just skip that step and just have eternal spring and summer. But until then, I will have to buckle down and survive another frozen winter.

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