My daughter, Cedar, got up this morning and moaned when she looked outside at the snow. We got about 4-5 inches last night. I remember feeling that way in March as a kid. Winter hasn’t bothered me much this year, probably since I missed last winter because we were in New Zealand.
A few seconds after her moan, Cedar was taking pictures of the snow. I could see why. It was beautiful — a heavy snow that stuck to branches in such amounts that the trees were almost entirely white.
I went out skiing, and at one point, down by the river, the slushy surface of the river was a greenish-gray color, with a stream of water running through the middle of it, and the untouched snow so perfectly white — it took my breath away.
When we were living in New Zealand last year, I had that breathtaking response to beauty every day, driving along the coast to Invercargill, or over the hills to Otautau. (You can read about it here.) I haven’t experienced it much this winter, back in the flatlands of central Minnesota.