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I miss snow. Really I do. I suppose it’s my Nordic genetics that makes long for the stuff. I know many people who find snow depressing. In contrast, nothing makes me happy so much as watching a snowfall. I suppose it gives me a sense of security; I don’t have to go out or anywhere. I can stay indoors and go into an introverted dwam the type only a blanket of snow can provide. 

More perverse is the pleasure of shoveling the stuff. There was a satisfaction to be out in the quiet night of a snow fall with the scrape scrape scrape of a metal shovel clearing the driveway and sidewalks. Even more was the return indoors to warmth and a hot cup of cocoa. As a boy I used to sit in the bay window, wrapped burrito-style in a heavy blanket and watch the snow encompass the neighborhood.  Like Gabriel Conroy in “The Dead” my soul slowly swooned as I heard the snow falling faintly through the universe, faintly falling upon all the living and the dead.  

Needless to say this no longer happens in my life, at least not where I live anyway.  Christmas has never been quite right since. When we first moved to AZ we used to go to NM at Christmas time just to see some snow to let us know it was Christmas time. Christmas doesn’t seem proper without some snow to it. 

Retirees generally move to warmer less wintry climes but  I want to return to snow country. I want to have proper winters and Christmases before I die or global warming makes snow a mere memory.  If I am fortunate I will find a modest home with a bay window to it and – oh the joy! – a proper fireplace.

Yes, that needs to happen, and soon.



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December 2018

Spo-Reflections 2006-2018