I love snow. And I hate snow. It’s looks so darn good! And it gives a great many excuses for being lazy and watching various TV marathons. Snow can make for wonderful pictures and can reassure you, and your bulbs underground, that winter has, in fact, fully arrived. You can ski in snow. Sled in snow. You can also cover yourself in fleece blankets and sip hot toddies.

Snow can also produce ice. And ice is slippery and is trying to trip people constantly. Snow requires shoveling. It impedes daily work on the farm. Television can be great, but those hours spent in one’s underwear on the sofa drinking champagne will undoubtedly be reclaimed by the barn at a more convenient time. Snow also breeds mud. Mud that will be attracted to little (and big) dog paws. Mud that will leave tracks on wood floors and light-colored sofas a-like.

The snow will be gone in three months. And then there will be mud for a few months. Mud and rain. Then heat. Horrible, horrible heat. And we shall, inevitably, complain about it. Again lounging in front of the television, this time sipping spiked ice tea, but still in one’s underwear. And then we’ll face fall. Those sweet smells, the cooling night air, the pumpkins, the harvest – my favorite. Then the snow. Complaining will commence again, anew. It’s a vicious cycle, one that has turned since the world starting spinning. And next season, I’ll do the same. And that won’t stop as that world, with me at the center, keeps spinning.


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