The view outside my windows this morning was like peering into a snow globe. Choreographed by the wind, big fat swirls of white swayed across the yard, sometimes so thick I could not see across the street. The snowflakes were the only things enjoying the dance. I was not - not even close. The only steps my feet took were to stomp out a protest beat. And for our delectation, tomorrow's forecast is for freezing rain, rain, and more snow.
A mere two months ago I welcomed the exquisite white crystals from the sky with joy and wonder. I delighted in their accumulation. I swayed in delight, enchanted by the great white tapestry outside my door; all the colours of the rainbow woven together into one brilliant white exposition of form and texture. I was thrilled by every winter weather watch and warning that came along.
That was then. This is now. This is February in southern Ontario where the white stuff is so yesterday's news; neither fresh nor inspiring. SSDD - Same Snow, Different Day, or words to that effect. It's not just boring, it's dispiriting. That prognosticating varmint declared winter over just four days ago but clearly, the weather gods did not get the memo.
Ah, but even these February lamentations are nothing new, at least for me. I can depend on their annual visit. Better yet, I know I can bank on their annual departure.
This is one of those days when I can hear my Dad the weatherman, telling me and all his radio listeners how a good thick blanket of snow is good news for the coming Spring; how it insulates the ground from the bitter cold and prevents the frost from going so deep as to kill off the dormant seeds; how it will in time bathe the good earth in abundant yet gentle moisture that is so critical for new growth.
I hear ya, Dad. Thanks for the reminder.
The light is returning and underneath all that white, the green lies waiting for re-birth.
©2017 April Hoeller