Let is snow let it snow let it snow

In light of some recent anti-snow sentiments, I feel moved to defend my adopted state. Where I come from, we didn’t have snow. We didn’t have freezing rain and iced-over highways. We didn’t have 60 below wind-chill or coats so big the gender of the wearer became undecipherable. We didn’t spin out of control or get stuck in two feet of snow on our way to Rainbow. We couldn’t see our breath in front of our faces or feel our snot begin to freeze waaaay up in our sinuses. But you know what we did have? Terrorists.

It’s true, the snow starts to lose its appeal some time after oh, January 1st. I mean, it’s lovely around the holidays and all, with tiny white Christmas lights peeking out from under a fresh coating. It tops the pine shrubs like soft mounds of sour cream, casting dove gray shadows on the white ground below. And the first snowfall is always a thrill, bringing out the child in everyone. We sit at newly frosted windows and peer out at the slowly drifting flakes, huge and full like cotton balls. In early winter, I even forgive the cold when I see the trees down my street, bent heavy with sparkling layers.

But I concede, after a while, there is only so much of the white stuff that I can take. Come March, it’s time for rising temperatures and swimsuit shopping, not two snow days in one week. But at least no one is trying to blow up the Super America down the street. So I guess I don’t mind the snow so much.