Tonight I had the undesirable task of retrieving logs for the woodstove. After a flirt with spring earlier this month, that bone-chilling crunch under my feet has returned. I'm struck how quiet it is out there, and how hard it is to deny the beauty of a fresh snowfall. It makes the dead and ugly, look beautiful.
I heard a report recently that snow was trucked to a school field in Miami so the kids could experience it. I can't image what it would be like to not know snow. It gives me an appreciation for the change of seasons, no matter what the thermometer says.
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